Concussed Detective
by JosieStyle
Summary: Something wierd was going on with those two. This story is about Sherlock Holmes and John Watson being kidnapped. Their memories are a bit different from the truth. (Try and take your time reading though the grammars as I am not that great with English. But I worked hard for it. Please leave a review to stay motivated.)
1. first the blood

Something wasn't right.

For example, he and Sherlock should be in the middle of a case right now. Looking for a bombmaker. Or at least some clues the man left behind. Something obviously went wrong. Pitch black. Cold. Dull feeling in the back of his neck. Sounds were distorted. Memory blurred. Than, he picked up a rusty smell.

"Christ."

They were binded down to a chair together, back to back. Ropes pinching down his arms. It hurt a little. Room darkened. And drafty. Cold. Vage sounds muffled like metallic waves. Only now John noticed his major headache, he must've forgotten about that since he'd woke up.

"Sherlock?" he tried to whisper through the ringing in his ears. Someone was there, leaning on him. He just assumed it was him, resting his curly head on John's right shoulder. Who else would it be? They were together before... _before what? He did not know. Before the attack? The case! Some kind of bombmaker planning an attack..._ John's brain started to work again.

"That trailer." John suddently gasped out. It was about the last thing he saw while snooping around the abandoned boat. There was only one empty trailer left on there. Sherlock made him aware that someone had been here recently, and that was when John must've got knocked out. Another smell he noticed. coppery. Sickning to his stomach. _Blood? Maybe._ He just had woken up, someone must've cracked his skull open in the proces. It felt like that, to be honest. Otherwise he felt fine. The weight of his friend's head leaning limb on him started to hurt a bit. That could only mean they had been here for a while. Slowly but surely John started to move his painfull limbs, only just noticing his legs were free to move. His arms were tied down behind his back, though. And it started to irritate. Didn't he just noticed that earlier? John heaved a sigh. He did feel dull. They had to go. But he wouldn't go far on his own. While wiggling his fingers he could touch the cold lean hand of Sherlock. Indeed very cold. With some struggle John checked for a pulse. Slow but steady. A good sign.

"Hey... Sherlock? You awake?" He frowned to the stillness.

The fact that Sherlock still hasn't moved concerned him the most. The urgency of the situation just shocked him. Sherlock was still out. No sign of life in him, apart of his beating heart. Curls prickling down his neck, now. If only he could scratch the itch but John couldn't move. About the only thing he could do was shifting himself, away from the mob of hair. Something sticked to his skin. He could feel the wetness of it, dripping down his neck. Blood.

Sherlock was bleeding on him from his head. _Oh no!_

"Sherlock? Can you hear me?" voice a bit more tense.

He tried to get a glance of his friend but it was impossible unless he could spin his head. And eventhough he could, it was too dark to see.

Now the cramps started to show in every joint all over his body. They had to get out. It was cold and windy and John was so over this. Someone had left them like this hours ago. There was a possibility his friend was dying. Who knows what they did to him when he was down.

With a little force John wiggled his shoulder causing Sherlock's head to wobble some more. A puff of air came from his lips.

"Christ, Sherlock. Wake up already. It was just a blow to the head. I didn't know you were such a lightweight." Still nothing when the back of his head took in it's former place. "I was not prepaired for this, Sherlock. You can not play dead to me again, now." With some struggle John took a bit of skin of his friends hand and pinched hard. Gladly there was some movement. Only just one litte jolt until he went limb again.

"You said it will be a quick 'lookaround'. Now look at the time. It must be near midnight." John flexed his shoulder, harder this time. And then. Finally a soft struggle for air came from the detectives mouth.

"W-whasthis?" he whispers off. Some of the slow movements suggested John that his friend was having a hard time. "We were knocked down investigating this trailer, Sherlock. Any suggestions getting out of these ropes?" John swallowed hard when the weight of Sherlock's head came down on him once more. The scent of blood was sickenly obvious.

"No no no. Sherlock. Stay with me, now. You have had your nap. We need a plan to get out of here. First we need to get out of these ropes. Only then I can look at your head, okay? You might have gotten one hell of a concussion."

"No time f'r t-that now John... We need to get outahere. Someone is planning an attack," came the words slurred and unrecognizable. Behind his back he could feel his wounded friend fiddle with the knot. For some reason Sherlock blew out a sigh of relieve.

"Easy one. John, you are a soldier. This shippers knot is called the clove hitch. You can do this, John. Just... J-just find the middle part of it and push through." John wasn't happy about the puffes of air his friend made between his words. Instead of asking how he did John started to work on the knot. It was not so easy as Sherlock mentioned. John was never good with shippers knots. But it didn't take long for him to free himself. immediately, John had the urge to wiggle his wrists. They hurt a bit. "Now do mine" Sherlock mumbled tiredly. John, just out of the chair, popping his stiff joints for some relieve looked even more worried.

"Why can't you do it?" He didn't wait for his friend to answer, though. and just got on with it. In the meantime, Sherlock sort of let him do all the work. The doctor could hear Sherlock whimper in pain while staightening himself.

"Ah Jawn... You were right. I am having a hard time staying awake. Might have a concussion." John finally got himself afrond of his friend and grabbed one of his shoulders for support.

"I know. We'll take care of that later. Just hang on." One of Sherlock's legs then moved. "Let's just go, John. We need to inform Mycroft about the attack. We can rest later." John smiled.

"Yeah, no argue there. Let's go some place warm." As soon as the detective made a stand John could feel him buckle over. "Oh! stay put, Sherlock. Let me help."

"Kay." One arm got placed in his neck and the Doctor steered him slowly to the wall. "I'ts dark. How long have we been here?" the detective asked slightly more coherent. John shook his head.

"No idea. Woke up with your gigantic brain resting on my shoulder and that's about it." It earned him a snort from Sherlock. "I must've stopped the sirculation to yours then." John couldn't make out the joke but at least he was talking. "Now. Let's find the door, Sherlock. Can you hold onto the wall?" Sherlock didn't say anything but retreived his arm. He must have just nodded without noticing John could not see him in the pitch black.

With some effort the doctor found some kind of handle and puled the damn thing up. immediately when the first hint of light touched the glimps of his friends face John gasped in horror. Blood had spilled everywere. And ofcourse he knew about headwounds always tend to bleed more but seeing the mess on his friend's face made him sick.

"Oh Sherlock... Come here. Let me help you. Lean back on me."

Not only John was startled by the light. Sherlock now only just realized he was seeing doubble as fuck. It shocked him nearly off his feet and started lingering to the side. "Jawn... It's impossible to walk for me. Can't I just lay down now?" Again with slurring words. John felt so sorry for him. "Spinning... Jawn... can't feel my hands." Sherlock looked down at his hands before swaying sideways again. John was only just limitly capable to hold him upright. Afterall he was shorter. "What did they do to you? Jezus. You look like hell." Again, Sherlock's knees give out and John had to support al his weight. They had to take a stairs off the rusty boat before beeing on solid ground. But that was not going to happen if Sherlock was unconscious.

"Hey!" John grunted his discomfort while bringing him to the ground. The sun had only just sunken. But there was still enough light for him to see the poor man's eyes flicker close. Dark spats of blood that had come down from out his ear made John aware of the situation. Sherlock had a concussion. Possible scull fracture eyeing the blood on the side of his skull.

"Where did they hit you with? A schoolbus?" After positioning the unconscious detective correctly John started looking for his phone. Phoning the ambulance was about the only option now.

...

AN: Listen.. This is an very old idea for a story. I forgotten about it. This was before we got to see season 4. Please tell me what you think. I might make a chapter soon :)

X

Josie


	2. the walk

While on his knees again, feeling for his friends pulse, John realized there was no signal on his phone. He was on his own. It started to get chilly and dark. They both would get an pneumonia if they would stay here out in the open. Sherlock has to wake up, off from the nasty ground with a cracked head and all. Messy situations. With a sigh the doctor made up his mind and started to shake the poor detective.

"Hey, Sherlock. This is not a good place for you to sleep on. We need to get moving. Catching the bommer, remember? The game is on." It shocked him how pale his friend looked against the last of the light. But it didn't wake him. Cursing to his breath John took off his jacket and placed it on to the still figure shoulders. "Alright, I understand. I'll just go back to the mainroom of the boat. I might have noticed an first aid case on the wall. We need to stop the bleeding." He padded his friend before leaving him temporarily behind.

This was bad. Just thinking about Mrs Hudson. Molly Hooper. Mary. What will they do when they find out sherlock was hurt? Totally forgeting the fact that he took a punch also. But he seems fine. Mostly. Well, he misses his jacket.

Atleast his phone hadn't died, he could use the light while taking the creaky ladder up. The metalic waves he had heard inside that damn trailer were actually waves of the river. It rocked the boat slightly, or it could just be his own dizzyness. He was feeling rather dull.

They had been here before. Sherlock and him. Didn't found any clue either. Accept for the pushed out cigarettes on the steeringtable. Someone had been here. But the dust was collecting all over, showing them no footprints. His phone shined upon a white metal case against the wall. He nearly broke out in a smile. Grabbing the case fastly John wanted to return to his unconscious friend. Nearly stumbling on his own feet John took the ladder back to the deck. To his surprise Sherlock somehow succeeded to get into a sitting position, looking very cross. Not knowing how to react John kneeled beside him, grabbing ahold of one shoulder.

"I already have one coat, John. Why are you giving me yours. It's quite chilly, want to get sick?" John took the jacket snorting.

"Already with that attitude, ay Sherlock. Feeling better?" He was pretty pleased to see him banter. "Let's play doctor. I need you to hold this and that while I am cleaning the wounds with this." Still confused Sherlock did what his doctor asked. John missed the point that Sherlock was actually really confused. Dapping away the blood from the detectives face felt kinda pleasing. He looked better without the crimson streaks. It took some time finding the gash on the side of his head, though. The bleeding had strated to slow down. Atleast it didn't drip out of his scull anymore, thank God. "Good, give me the bandage," John asked. Trying hard to invole the detective with tasks in order to hold him sane. "Tape, Sherlock?" And Sherlock holded out his arm where he had small pieces of tape sticking to it. John had made him make those in advance earlier. There wasn't much John could do out here. Apart from bandage him up. It was just something to prevent stuff falling in to his open wound that could cause an infection. Some proper treatment was needed after. But for now this would do. John stuffed the remainings of the bandages inside his jacket and cleaned a bit of his neck.

"Well then. Up for a walk, Sherlock?" Sherlock just looked at him like he had seen a ghost.

"A walk? John! You basically put my head back together with some bandage and now you are asking me to take a walk? What kind of doctor are you?"

"I know this is all very strange to you but we are in the middle of nowhere with an cold night ahead. You have an concussion and clearly not up for a camping party. This place is spooky. We have a pad through the woods ahead. I just want to go home so we need to start walking now... while you're still up and about." All that with a stern face made Sherlock do whatever he wanted. He nodded absently and just started to get to his feet. Another sign John seemed to miss that Sherlock wasn't in his own manner.

It was darker now. Maybe that had helped his friend not seeing doubble. He made it down the stairs. Off the boat. He walked a couple of minutes through the woods with his normal pace. John was getting really impressed. The road back down the hill took about an hour, John remembered, but at this rate, it will be no problem.

After half an hour Sherlock started to walk in some sort of bee line. Hands taken out of his coatpockets to gain his balance. John carefully walked behind him, ready to steady his feet if needed.

"Sherlock, talk to me?" The detective started to pant. "I-I can't. I will loose my focus." It was understandable.

"You're doing amazing. We're only one half an hour away from the road, we can take a taxi or phone an ambulance." that reminded John to watch his phone. "Still no signal here." He watched his friend trip over a piece of wood and guided the poor man down on his knees before he took the land. It were enough movements for the poor man to spin his world and he could'nt stop crossing his eyes. All John said to him didn't bring him back to focus. He looked really tired too. John had to shine his phone light to his face to see what was going on and that was about it for the detective. One look at John's direction was about the only warning before spilling his guts out. It was so voilently his whole body rocked forward. In the end it left him weak and vulnerable. John felt how much his friend wanted to pull him into a hug and when he did the poor man started sobbing like a lost child. "I can't do it anymore, Jawn... Please don't let me go further..." John just took in the words in awe. He had never seen Sherlock in this emotional state. It was kind of... touching.

Some time passed.

His entire frame was shaking like a leaf when John slowly broke the hug. "You did good. We're almost there. We take it slow, this time. Talk to me?"

"bout w-what?" slurred the man. his head must've hurt badly at this point. Sherlock touched the crimson drenched bandages non-stop.

"What ever you want. I need to know in what state you're in."

Sherlock only schrugged.

"The case then. You always love talking about your cases. What happened today?" Sherlock pulled his legs up to his chin and let his head rest on to his knees.

"Really want to sleep..."

"No. When did you notice someone was there at the boat? Before I got knocked down? What is the last thing you remember?"

Sherlock just stare at the doctor in horror. He really wasn't up to it. But he tried. "The... one cigarette still smoking on the floor at the front of the trailer," the man whispered. John watched how the detective started to cross his eyes again while trying to remember. "He jumped out of nowhere, banging your head with that... pipe. I grabbed him..." Voice broke off. Sherlock carefully touched his aching head. "W-wouldn't let go. He must've bashed until I... gave up." Sherlock gave a sigh. This was very difficult for him to remember. "I have seen his face, John. Hopefully I can still remember it when we're home. Triangular face. Male. Low fifties. thick hands." Sherlock shook his face and immediately regrets it with a moan. John gave a friendly smile. "You will. Just hang on for a bit, alright? you've done great."

Carefully getting to his feet, the detective became aware of the smell of his own puke, nearly making him sick again. "Let's just go."

The last of the walk was mainly done in quietness. Sherlock needed it to focus on his task not to faint, not to fall and not to give into that heavy feeling on the back of his head. Still on the edge of passing out, he took his walk foot by foot. With the help of his doctor.

At the side of the citylights both were actually pretty relieved. John had started to feel the aftermath of this adventure aswell. The ringing in his ears were back. The dullness of the blow too. But he was lucky compaired to his friend. The man who saved him apparantly. Sherlock looked like the dead warmed over, by now. Nearly passing out on him while protesting about the phoned ambulance, making John's choise obviously on point.

While waiting for the ambulance to come, John felt a hand on his shoulder for support again. John took a good grib onto his middle aswell.

"You can sit down, Sherlock. You've had it."

"No." was about the only thing he said before the ambulance came into sight.

...

AN: Another chapter. Sorry for the grammars. It's unbetaed. Obviously I meant Boat instead of Boot. Its the Dutch word for it. That's why I didn't noticed the mistake right away in the past chapter. Oopsie! Please leave a comment.

X

Josie


	3. Hospitalized

The good part about this all was that nobody asked any questions apart from the little tests that suggested how bad the head injury might be. Sherlock wasn't able to do tests he just wanted to sleep, like he mentioned repeatedly. John must've failed at some point because he was getting admitted too. Understandable. They where both victims of an assault. It would be for the best if they let themselves looked after while giving their story to the police. It was the best moment, if only John could remember the name back then, to call Lestrade. Clearly the paramedics didn't recognized the detective without the funny hat. The poor man didn't look like himself now, did he? John watched how they carefully placed Sherlock on a stretcher. He kept himself abnormally quiet. Barely able to acknowledge one of te paramedics strapping him down. John could just sit at the bench next to Sherlock. The ride wasn't that long.

At the hospital John made some calls, telling his wife he had to stay over for the night. Mary would take care of the rest, inform Mrs. Hudson about the whereabouts. She would come visit him as soon as she could. He even phoned Mycroft about what happened and which identifications Sherlock could remember about the bommer. He told John that it was noted and that it was off their hands, now.

"Doctor Watson?" a female doctor walked in on him. He was sitting on some examination table, waiting for her to look him over. He apologized to her while putting away the phone. "Business call? At this hour?" she joked. "Yeah well..." John shrugged flopping his hands onto his lap. Legs swinging a bit. Made him look childish. Mud trail alover the floor. Sunken shoulders. Still fully dressed onto the table he didn't quite understand why she was staring at him. "Sorry... W-" He looked unsure of himself. "What's wrong?" The female doctor smiled amused.

"Doctor Watson, if you will be so kind? I need to take a look at you. I was told you and your friend had been in some kind of an attack? Lost consciousness for quite some time?" John snorted, suddenly getting the point.

"Oh ofcourse. I will take down the jacket. Etcetera. Sorry. Long day..." he murmured, must've made a fool out of himself. "But seriously I am fine. I feel fine. This isn't necessary." The female doctor took something out of her deskdrawer and started the examine his pupils. "Of course not. But as a neurologist I can't let you go yet. Not with those dilated pupils. You, Dr. Watson, have a nice little concussion of your own." John huffed some air in disbelief. "You sure?" Her stern look made it clear. "Sorry, ofcourse you sure... Well... Christ."

"Again with the apologies. There is no need. Just take some rest. You can stay here for the night. You can watch over your friend. We can watch over you. Well, that does sounds good now, does it?"

"I... yes. That eh... good."

...

Awful, just awful. He had made a fool out of himself. John rubbed his face tiredly. Now there was nothing else to do than wait, until Sherlock was looked after. Wich took a while. He was steered to his room for the night. Mary would come by, bringing him some fresh clothes and other stuff. Not yet prepaired to gave in to his defeat he just sat on the bed texting Lestrade about Sherlock's condition.

When John finally gave up and lay himself down, another occupied bed was wheeled in next to his. Two nurses were still working on the monitors Sherlock was connected to.

"Are you alright, Doctor Watson? Need anything else?" The other nurse asked softly after securing the bed to the ground. John smiled back. "No I am fine. Just a bit stiff from the fright. Nothing a cup of thee and a nap could fix." The nurse smiled and did her final check upon the machine. John stared at the still figure next to him.

"How is my friend doing?" he asked softly. The nurse hooked a chart back upon the foot of the bed.

"Your friend has a skull fracture. Pictures showed some swelling to the left way up to his ear canal, cranial pressure, concussion... well... Doctor Watson. I am sure he would be fine for the next hour. We will take good care for him. You can go right ahead and sleep in for the night. We can monitor him." It was nice of her. But John shook his head. "No no. I'll be awake. Can't let my friend down." The nurse blinked at the man in awe, "Quite romantic, though. I wish my boyfriend was that sweet." John frowned. "Oh no no no. He is not my boyfriend. Just a friend. I am not gay," John muttered. Her face started to blush. She was suddenly eager to leave but promised him to check-up on them later. Odd woman, John thought.

The light on the nightstand between their beds was left on for a reason. They could see Sherlock better during their shifts. John didn't mind. Now he could watch over him aswell. He so looked peaceful, the poor man. Even with that bandaged head of his. John took it all in while shifting on hs side. One hand folded onder his neck, like he always did. They dressed him in one of those hospital dresses. Clothes neatly folded onto the dresser in the corner of the room. Shoes ontop of his coat. Not so diry as his. Luckily. don't want to get his coat all messy. John smiled unknowingly. Slowly his eyes started to droop. But they popped right open when someone hurried down the hallway. Sherlock was sleeping peacefully. The whitness of the gown made the detective look paler. Sicker. And yet... the rising and falling of his chest looked so hypnotic. Sherlock was safe, here. He could finally sleep. That was all thet mattered. "Night, Sherlock," he murmured. Without knowing John's mind started to drift.

...

"...John? You there? Where are we?... John?..."

...

Some time must've passed because when John opened his eyes the curtains between their beds where closed, blocking the view to his friend. Unsure of what had happenend John looked around in terror. Suddenly his wife stood at the foot of his bed. "You are a fool, Doctor Watson," she said sternly. But a smile broke through her beautiful face. He immediately relaxed. "Mary." He let himself rest against his pillows. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to find you dead to the world. You've mist all the fun. Sherlock was awake when I dressed you into your pajamas. Don't worry he might've forgotten about that now." John nodded absently. But then "Wait... what?" he pushed his covers away to notice his nightwear. "And I didn't wake up?"

"A cute fool, indeed." Mary kissed him on his cheek. "Don't worry. I closed the curtains." Still not over the part were he didn't wake up John nodded at the man next to him. "How is he doing?" Mary had to think about what she was going to say. It wasn't good to hear.

"He was... slow. Couldn't tell what was in the bag for him. Bought him some socks. You'll get something too." John did not belief her.

"Slow?" he asked. "What is going on here?" The doctor pulled himself up from the pillow, while janking the covers away. "John? where are you going?" John wanted to see his friend, of course. Mary stopped him. "John, Sherlock is fine. He's sleeping. And so should you."

"I want to see him." Mary gave up and let him go open up the curtains. There was nothing changed, really. The detective was still on his back, like the last time. Sleeping peacefully. Except for the developing dark bruises on his left jaw, everything looked normal. "He saved me, Mary. Sherlock fought back, protecting me. Got himself banged up into the proces," John whispered while getting a bit closer to his friend.

...

AN: Awww I miss Sherlock in this part. Maybe next time. Leave a comment :)

X

Josie


	4. A cute fool

It was early in the morning when Mary decided to leave. John kissed her goodbye and got back to his bed. He was just about one minute alone and Sherlock started to hum in discomfort. It sounded so sad. "Sherlock?" eager to help John sat op from his mattress. The detective stirred. Legs flopping from under the thin covers. The injured side of his head pulled away from the pillow. John was with him in nearly a second. Sherlock didn't look very happy. Eyelids squeezed shut at the sensation of too much movements. Yup. Poor Sherlock was having no fun. John watched him until he couldn't take it anymore. "Hey... You okay?" he asked softly. Not to startle him.

"I feel... like shit." was enough for John to heave a sigh. "Understandable."

Sherlock hands started travelling to his head, movements stopped by the wires that were connected to the monitor. "No.. Don't touch that." John drew one hand away from the wire Sherlock wanted to pull off. He managed to get to his painful ear, though. "Whatsthat? Painful... sound?" he murmured with such a hoarse voice, John had to swallow hard. "That bad, ay Sherlock?" _No good._

 _His wide eyes. Still dancing allover the place. Crosseyed and worse. He looked weird._

"Try to relax. close your eyes, Sherlock. It had helped you before. Remember? Back at the boat." Sherlock did close his eyes for him. Feet still stirring under the covers. Trying to controle his dizziness.

"Not working... still spinning... Shit." Was he getting sick? ' _No good' indeed. He needs help_ , John thought concerned.

"Sherlock, I call a nurse, hold on." John looked for the button, only to find sherlock hasn't any attached to his bed. "What the..." He had one. Frowning at the lack off he hurried back to his bed, shuffling on bare foot. The floor was cold. Why did Mary bought socks for Sherlock? He wasn't going to use them, anyway.

"Jaaaaaaawn."

"Im here, Sherlock. Just pushing the button."

"No. I mean... _Uhg_... I'm getting sick."

"Christ."

It went wrong to soon. John couldn't stop it in time. His friend got up from his pillow, yanking all the wires loose, then he had to puke sideways because he couldn't held his head straight because of the pain. Totally horrified of what just happened John covered his mouth. Brows up to the roof. The male nurse chose that moment to walk in, finding a scared man in baby blue pajamas and a puking patient leaning onto the bed's safety bar for support.

"What is happening here?" the man asked sternly, like he was talking to a bunch of kids. Sherlock was in no good state to answere. He was still spilling his guts onto the floor while getting looked at. John just stood there. Barefoot and lost.

"Sir? What happened?" the male nurse asked again. This time directing to John. "H-he said he was getting sick..." he stuttered. Sounds started to distort. "I was talking to him and the next thing he was getting worse, I tried to find a button but he hasn't one. Had to walk back to mine."

"You alright now, Sir? Can you talk?" He pushed the detective back on the bed. But he was in no state. Still looking around crosseyed and dazed. "It's all good now. It's okay. Let's get you cleaned up." John blinked at the soft spoken words. _This wasn't real._

The curtains started to close, blocking his sight. John felt wierd. _What was happening?_

"Sir, Doing alright? Go lie down." Another nurse came out of nowhere and steered him back to his bed. John didn't understand at first. But when he sat down the noises started to sound slightly normal. _Was he actually going to faint?_ He looked shocked at the young nurse as she pushed him further down. "This one just fainted," she murmured to her colleague. John looked up at them blinking some black spots away. Not able to talk or move. His face felt like iced rubber. Chills went up and down through his spine. Fingers started to tremble but then he started to feel better, slowly. _Such an odd sensation._ He had never felt like this.

"Comming to..." John noticed the young nurse again who had steered him back to his bed. He sort of smiled at her still not able to talk. But she smiled back. "Alright." Someone responded to her. John remembered the the third face hanging over him. Neurologist... forgot her name though. She held some sort of light. Checking his pupills again like the last time. But she dind't asked questions. Some of the black spots came back. He heaved a sigh. Unaware for a few seconds and he blinked up at them again.

"Im a cute fool," he blurred out, remembering what Mary had said to him last night. Causing everyone to laugh. "Yes you are, Doctor Watson." _Did he say that_ _aloud_ _? Oh God!_

"Feeling better?" the doctor asked as the nurse let go of his shoulders. He hadn't noticed she was still pinning him down. "Some experience... Did I faint?" he asked a little bit more coherent. "You did. Got yourself worked up and earned yourself another night in the hospital." He bit his lip.

"And my friend?" That earned him a friendly smile.

"Your friend is fine. It's to be expected for a patient that badly concussed. Lucky for him, you were there to push the button." Slowly, John got into a sitting position, only noticing that his back was wet. Feeling slightly uncomfortable he frowned. It wasn't unnoticed. "Cold sweats. Nasty after affect. Did your wife brought you some fresh nightwear?" John honestly didn't know. "Let me take care of that. In the mean time. Rest. I don't want you to faint without supervision."

"Doubble concussion.. hm... no thanks." he smiled nearly forgetting the fact he just said he was a cute fool.

...

AN: Lol, I had fun writting this one. Liked it?

Please review :3

X

Josie


	5. Nice bib, Sherlock

Covering himself in fresh sheets, Sherlock tried to concentrate forgetting the sounds around him. Everything caused him to hurl unintended. His head pounded and his ear was killing him. First it was the light. Now it was all about the sounds. The wave of sounds, he could imagine them. Every frequence another wave. In here it was just a wave pool of everything trying to drown him in it. Seeking comfort within his mindpalace was about the only thing he could do. If... If he could. His way through it was blocked. He could not get in. And the stuff he had stored in it, it didn't reach him. Mostly memories. Important stuff. But what could he do? His hands were tied. Leaving him stuck in this stupid reality. People touching him, saying things he was suppose to like. But there was John too. Somewhere. He had only seen his once after he got stuck here. Telling him he could sleep now. That he was safe. Telling him to close his eyes.

A foodtray got wheeled in. He could smell the watery potatoes, covered in... beacon? Startled by a hand on his shoulder Sherlock opened his eyes. "You'll need to eat, Sir. Blood pressure is starting to get low." He could see the long teeth of the nurse beaming at them. Horribly fake. She could not have affort a better dentist with this job. "Pissoff," he murmured. He had to close his eyes now. His head started to feel lighter again. And it was not in the good way.

"Just putting the head rest up, don't want you to choke on it." _Oh, that's what he must've felt then._

"Don't want food..." Something was done to him. He got a bib draped over him. Unsure he wanted to peek through the blurry mess but he didn't have to. Something was pushed against his lips. It felt terrible.

"Open up." _For Gods sake. No!_

It was hot, and extremly unpleasant to smell it from this close. He slapped it away with a little more force he wanted to. It stayed quiet for a while but he was sure she was still here. He opened up his eyes, welcomed by a pretty sight of a shocked nurse covered in... whatever radioactive blurr she wanted to feed him. Now she was getting angry.

"Fine, I'll get someone else." She walked away with the plate.

"Sherlock.. that was mean." _John?_

He started looking for him, face cleared up a bit. He couldn't find him.

Again with the sounds. Harsh and unneeded, talking people near their room. He wanted to cover his ears again but couldn't find his head like the last time. "Whats with the hands?" John asked, chewing something.

"My head," he blurred out. "Where is it?" Sounding so stupid without it. _His head_.

"They gave you medicine for the pain. That's why they wanted you to eat," John told him.

Finally finding a figure next to his bed.

"That you?"

"Yeah. Don't look at my pajamas. I borrowed it. I know I look funny. It's fucking pink." They looked at each other for a while. Some memories of their last adventure must've crossed both their minds. This was actually their first time talking after that. But there was nothing much to say. Sherlock will never talk about it. That is just how he is.

"You know she is going to find you some big muscled male nurse who is willing to force feed you, right," John snorted amused.

"...W-well.. I'll just get sick again there will be no point of feeding me... And you know it's true." He started to get tired again. Talking was draining him. The faint feeling of falling backwards wasn't the nurse handling the headrest, this time. It was his consciousnesses. He was slipping away. "Or.. I could just fall asleep now..." Sherlock was actually telling the truth. To John he always tried. He said something else to John, but didn't quite catch that with all the background noises. "Whot?" he asked to himself. "I didn't say anything," John replied from a distance. He started to fall asleep again. He feld so weak and floaty. And those two words he would have never chose to describe his feelings. So he must be off his rocker.

Unaware of everything surrounded him for some time.

...

"Nice bib though," John's voice came back.

And that was just so funny. He grinned aloud. But his mind was taking him under.

He never heared the end of it. He just had fallen sleep.

...

Woken up every hour was the standard to his injuries. He knew. He also knew the painmeds had done his part long ago. He couldn't even bring himself looking up to the nurse talking to him. Eyes didn't cooperate with him yet. _Headrest up or down?_ ...he couldn't tell that appart. For all he could feel the bed was moving. But it might just be his brain not knowing what was up or down. It was quite unpleasant. And someone was still on his bedside trying to get some reaction. "Hhhhmm" he tried. Without upsetting his stomach. Bile was already froming at the back of his throat. "Wait... Dizzy." Assuming someone was still there waiting for an answere. _Headache... God... the struggle._

"Open them up," Sherlock finally understood.

And he tried. Couldn't tell if he had succeeded. Like he mentioned earlier... Brain did not work with him.

"Crossed eyes. Non responsive. Increased cranial pressure. That's not so good now, is it, Mister Holmes. Write that down, nurse."

"Am here, just... too d-dizzy," he had his eyes open but couldn't work with them. His head did hurt. This must be his doctor. He had never talked to her, yet.

"Alright, Mister Holmes. Go back to sleep. We'll try some other time." Someone whispered something about his ear. That was all he could understand.

...

After his wierd fainting spell he actually felt getting better. He took breakfast. Talked with his friend. Tried to read the newspaper he stole down the hallway. He didn't feel any of his concussion but gave in to the fact that he had to be careful. He was there when they came in to their room for the routine check-up on Sherlock's condition. This time it went a bit odd. Sherlock didn't act right. The Doctor was called in. And they took him away for another headscan. From his place he could tell the poor man had started bleeding out of his ear. There was just so much pressure building up, it had to go out somewhere. As a Doctor he knew there were some risks. And it was safe to say, Sherlock needed some relief from the pressure. Last time they had some fun like always. Felt normal. Now things got sour. He watched him leave, Pillow all dirty with his blood and unconscious to the world.

John lost his interest for the paper now.

...

AN: I had some time off, alright! Needed to go deeper into this story ;)

review me please :3

X

Josie


	6. Who indeed, John

Chatting away quietly, John told Lestrade what had happened at the abandoned harbor on the other side of the woods. And all Lestrade wanted to know about was how the hell they got out of there. 'Impossible' was the word he pushed into whatever John had to say. The older detective was still unsure if John's story accurate. "Well, you were knocked silly. And he can be an hand full. I've seen him off his tits, before you knew him. It sounds odd to me how you got him to walk all this way in the state he was in? To be honest as a friend, there are some serious doubts about this story you told. That's why they held you here." Eyeing the unconscious man in the other occupied bed, John could understand it. "Well, i've wondered too. Sherlock was amazingly strong at some point. Must been the adrenalin kick," John replied in the matter of factly. "People can lift a car when under the influence. That's what it is for."

"Yeah but... Correct me if I am wrong, Doctor Watson. An adrenalin rush only lasts for a couple of minutes. You sure that what you've been doing, was real? Wasn't somebody else there with you? It has to be."

John snorted. "Lestrade... I know what's real. I wasn't that off. Just a little bit." He started smiling shakily. Cearly doubting himself.

"Alright John. Here is the thing. I wasn't suppose to tell you this. Don't panic... The bloodresults that were taken at your first check-up showed some drug into your system. I was called for this. Someone must've injected you with something. Do you understand the problem? Something else may has happened while you were knocked down. But there is no actual truth when the only witness is non responsive." The serious look on the older detective made John sick to the stomach.

It made John feeling extremly uncomfortable. Some parts of his story had started to blurr in time. Feeling confused the Doctor begin to rub his bruised neck. "Shit.. Lestrade... now I feel scared. What I have said to you on the phone while I was admitted must be the closest thing to the truth. Some parts of it already starting to fade. Sorry." Letrade nodded. If only Sherlock was around to fill in the blancs...

"Don't worry. We'll get to it. You just rest."

 _"...gnnnnhh..."_ a grunt came from the other side of the room.

John and Lestrade had waited hours for Sherlock to wake up after his emergency surgery. Like a cracked skull wasn't enough, they had to actually drill another hole in it. To drain some of the swelling away that has ensured the man so much troubble already.

And when the moment finally came both rushed to the bedside of their friend. Just small movements were made. But the following grunt was noticed.

"Hey? Sherlock?"

"W-where is M'croft..." the faint hoarse voice blurred out. Lestrade frowned at that one. John was still spooked by the drugged-thing. And now he wondered what had happened to his friend who couldn't talk to them just yet.

"What's that now? Do you want you brother?" Lestrade tried to sound as kind as possible. The poor Sherlock looked so fragile. Bruises were starting to turn purple and the bandage was removed, showing them the little metal stiches on the side of his left scalp. Some small part of hair was shaved off but that will grow back in time. After a long minute Sherlock finally replied with a small nod.

Lestrade turned to the still spooked doctor. "Shall we call him? Maybe he can deduct something out of him?" John doubted that. But he shall text him right away.

"John here will text your brother, alright? How do you feel?"

John was texting when he got a wierd feeling. Something had strucken him. But he couldn't tell what it was just yet. While looking at his phone he tried to figure it out, totally unoticed by Lestrade.

Another minute had passed and Sherlock was able to answere again. He was really slow at the moment.

"T-triangular..." he whispered. After another pause came the other word. "face... thick hands... _uhg_..." Lestrade heaved a sigh. The description John had given before. He've told Lestrade already. But the good part was that Sherlock at least made an effort to be in his normal state of mind. He must've heard them talking and tried to involve with them. But he was still to weak from the surgery.

"Yes yes. What else?" Lestrade looked at the doctor why he didn't help involving the man. Then finally he saw the small doctor fixed on the phone lost in his thoughts. "John?" John gasped and looked at the older detective. "The phone. Sherlock didn't have one. They must've taken it." Lestrade blinked at him while Sherlock was still thinking what else he knew about the attacker.

"Who are _they_?" John shrugged feeling a bit lost in words. "I don't know. The paramedics?" John looked as white as a sheet. Starting to clamps the rim of Sherlock's bed. "They didn't ask questions... that was kind of odd."

Meanwhile Lestrade kept an eye on both. His eyes got back and forward. For now his eyes pinned on the doctor. "You okay?" John nodded but he started to bend forward as his knees got a bit wobbly. "No you're not. Sit down. Here is a chair." Helping the doctor sit Sherlock was getting a bit more aware.

"Whats happening?" he asked horrified. "John there?"

"Yah, Here. Present! Just ah... feeling faint," Lestrade blinked again, getting concerned. "Should I call for a doctor?"

John just shook his head. "I am a doctor, I am fine. Just a bit whoozy." He looked up to the older detective. "I am getting some wierd feelings about that place, Lestrade. It scares the hell out of me." Sherlock seemed to be scared aswell. He was breathing shallow. "Mycroft?" he askes. "Gavin? Where is my brother?"

Eyes crossed and still trying to look out for him. Lestrade knew he had made a great decision to never get kids. It would have been just like this. He grasped the call button and pushed it before it got out of hand.

Finally a small _ping_ came from the phone John still had in his hand.

Mycroft was on his way.

...

"Traumatized?" John blurred at the older Holmes.

"I do think so, yes."

Standing at the bedside, his younger brother was now sleeping in, Mycroft could tell the signs of his brother's mental state. A faint smile.

"Don't worry. It is not about what they had done to him. It's all about you." John huffed, still sitting in the chair.

"Me?"

"Losing you. Do I have to spell out everything?" A brow razed at him. "A _'best'_ friend?" Lestrade was seated in the back of the room. Trying to be polite and not interfere.

"Oh," was John's faint reply. He sipped at his given tea to recover.

In the meantime Mycroft was standing over his younger brother investigating the scars and bruises. John didn't miss the sad look that slipped from his normal poker face.

"As for the case, there was an refugee attacker taken down matching my brothers lacking deduction. But it could not have been him, attacking you two. This man passed away three days ago. So what have happened in the woods is a mistery to solve. I can put some people on it as we speak. Get some rest and I will contact when there is news. And Doctor Watson?" John blinked up.

"Please text me again when brotherdear is a bit more vivid. I want to speak to him in private." With a nod Mycroft got out of the room leaving the three behind.

..."Well... shit! Who had attacked us then?"

...

AN: Who indeed, John. Like my little plot twist? Please review!

X

Josie


	7. Information is an valuable asset

Whatever was done to him, Sherlock felt some weight lifted off his shoulders. He could breathe better. And somehow he was even more aware of things surrounding him. Headache had been lifted a bit. Just a tiny bit. _Don't get ahead of ourself._ There must be some sort of improvement then. After their kidnapping.

Couldy flashes started to corrupt his restfull sleep. Images of John being knocked down with a piece of metal. Dragging him away. _Thick hands!_ He was grabbed from behind forcefully punched to the ground. He tried to fight them off. Managed to break one of his fingers. _Chains dropping. Rusty smell, dead flesh._ He rolled back up unsteady to his feet. _Blood!_ The one kick already made some damage to his sight. _John!_ A dull stinging sensation had been barely noticed. But it didn't stop him from kicking the man to his knees. Once the man was out he stumbled trough the place he had last seen his friend. He was gone. "John!" he shouted, voice unrecognizable to his own ears. Vision stared to get worse. _RED dots..._ Little did he know he was suddenly down onto the ground blinking up at the clouds. A face prostrate over him. Vision distorted. _Triangular face!_ Not able to come to sences he tried to fight the man. Limbs flapping and kicking around. Only hitting him once. The man smiled at first but got bored and took a pipe and...

"Sherlock?" Frustrated by the interruption he growled aloud. Eyes popped open to meet a familiar face. It was John again.

That uneasy feeling still present... The smell of death around him... and it wasn't his sweaty posture.

"You're sweating. Having a bad dream?" The smile. So cheery, for what? He had been through hell with him.

"Your eyes. I can't even remember how they looked without the crossing. That was unpleasant to look at. How do you feel?" Sherlock, still confused by John relaxed tone. Did he missed something?

"H-how can you..." he muttered amazed.

"How what?" John looked great. It was odd after what he had seen them do to him. "Sherlock, are you still dreaming? Running a fever?" He slapped John's hand away from his head, still focusing on the main problem.

"How long has it been? A week? Months?"

John blinked unsure.

"A few days... why?" He huffed out air in disbelief. Now John was the one who looked very concerned at him.

"Do you remember something?" Hands grappling the rim of his bed with force. _John was indeed very scared._ Knuckles turned white. In the mean time Sherlock nodded. Head still feels heavy and wierdly numb. "What, Sherlock?"

"You w-were kidnapped. Couldn't see his face. I fought back until I couldn't. Images are disturbed. Sorry. But I saw so much blood."

John face paled.

 _The smells. The sounds... those can't be overwrited in the mind. Only forgotten. Chains!_

John looked at him in horror., now. Suddenly not so cheerful as he woken up.

"Blood? Yeah.. I remember you bleeding all over me. They had cracked your skull. We woke up on the boat." And there it was. The point of the problem. Someone had done something to them.

 _Boat?_

 _"_ What boat? We never where on a boat, John. The cabin!" Sherlock sounded so lost. Nearly crying at the unkownings of the boat. They were never on a boat. It was that cabin. Nasty smells of rotten meat and rusty chains. Bones and flesh. At least... that was what he had seen.

"There was so much blood. I thought it was yours." John gulped at the man's frighting image. His memories were true! Not Sherlock's. How could he be right? He was seriously injured. He was the one that had the blood coming from out of his head.

.."I... have to call your brother now. Y-you relax alright."

"John?" Sherlock was practically crying now. So not sure of himself. But he let his head rest onto his pillow. It was heavy. He listenend to the words John had spoken. After that he took his place onto the chair. "Sherlock you're shivering."

"That and worse, John. I'm confused. Our stories aren't connecting. We might have been drugged?" John cursed.

"What's going on, Sherlock? What did they do to us?"

The man in the bed took a shaky breath. hands started to go up to his stitches. "Someone from the past. Information is a valuable asset."

That sentense... _'Information is a valuable asset," a man said to him after he felt his hands pinned behind his back._

Sherlock had closed his eyes now. Trying to calm himself down. The headache had started to recur. John was quiet for a bit. then started to make a call to his wife.

"Sherlock is awake. He remembers something. It's dark and scary. Please come visit. Miss you too."

...

AN: dark it went. Totally missing the point that sherlock is getting better What the hell did they do to our boys!

Review please. Or I'll will just walk away. xD

x

Josie


	8. Triggerwords can be usefull

There was only one thing to do, now. Compare what they still could remember. It was obvious their story did collide to a certain point. Mycroft was there to fish some of the suspicious things out. Boat and Cabin where one of them. Sherlock got sick everytime when Chains came up. He barely noticed it himself. John got faint while trying to remember that abandoned harbor. Which Mycroft already knew it didn't existed. But his younger brother told him continuously that John was kidnapped and he was fighting Them off. Two man. Thick hands. Blood. Mycroft got a little sick himself after hearing his younger brother rant about the rotten flesh he had smelled. Red dots.

"Sorry, what kind of dots, brothermine?" he was listening attentively. "Like a lazer on the gun or... blood?" Noticing his younger brother got paler as it was still even possible.

"It came from my head I think."

"I see." A polite smile, eyeing the fatigue in his younger brothers fragile form. "You know... the smells and sounds in a memory can't be unheard or changed. Only forgotten by the mind. You two got the rusty smells, coppery smell of blood." John crinched. Thinking about Sherlock dripping into his neck while lying unconscious against his shoulder.

"The waves I heared... from the river. What was that than?" Mary was there, but didn't say anything. She was just sitting next to her husband with one hand on her pregnant belly.

"Machinary, maybe." John nodded. Metalic waves was what he'd heared. But he was still so sure about what he saw. He was experiencing everything like it was real. Sherlock was mostly experiencing nothing at all, as in being unconscious.

"What was that sentence?" the poor tired concussed detective tried hard to remember. He had it right there at the tip of his tongue. Mycroft looked up at him after writting some of it down. Everyone in this room started to get worried about the strained faces Sherlock made. He already forgot that part... He desperately looked up at John but John didn't know what he meant.

"Sorry... I forgot," he admitted later in total loss.

"It's okay, Brothermine. You've had a rough week. Even for your stantards." While his eyes traveled over his notes Mycroft got something that interested him.

"So, you both got on a case together, finding some clues the bommer left behind? For what? Sherlock knew the man was already dead. I've told him. And yet John told you two were investegating at the boat." John nodded unsure of himself, now. "I havent even realised it till now but I have told Sherlock about this solved case in a Text. Look it up." Sherlock blinked. He did not remember anything about that. Mary felt John's hand asking for her love and she held it close to her belly. John got scared. That wierd feeling got back.

"Sherlock doesn't have his phone. They took it." Now everyone, except for Sherlock, looked up at the Doctor. Mycroft nodded with his usual smile.

"Did They, John. Who are They?" John was going to say that he noticed it was missing at the boat, his got a bit jabbed up in thier adventure. But than something had shocked him. He stood up from his seat. Gasping in panic. Pupils dilated. "The guys with the beanies." He remembered.

"John?" Mary asked, seeing her husband panicing. Even Mycroft gulped at what he saw was going to happen. "Alright, Mary just be ready. He is going to lose his senses. Guide him back to his seat." John started to breath in short puffs. Mary did her best. But John had stiffen up in fear. "I know what happened to Sherlock!" he spat out in fear. Mycroft stood up willing to help Mary if John did something. It was his doings. He used the triggerwords on the doctor. in order to help him remember. It had to be done. Sherlock was too weak for that now. Even with his best friend yelling the his younger brother, he barely blinked.

"They asked questions. Questions about a prison. I was there. The shippers knots, Sherlock said I could undo... It wasn't rope. It were chains. Rusty and painful. Sherlock got hit with it until he bled. I was there, but couldn't do anything. They said something about... Devilsbreath. Fed me words about a boat and what to see. Sherlock was willing to spill everything they wanted to know, while bleeding out. He didn't stop until they tossed him on to the floor. I was watching but couldn't move. Only the builded up fear got through me. They had taken his phone..." Again with the phone been taken... John got overwelmed. He was talking but didn't understand why they had put him on the ground. Mycroft and Mary standing over him. Pinning him down.

"Devilsbreath... A dangerous drug. It can make you do everything without the controle of your own. Sherlock, what did you spill to them?" he asked softly to himself. This could be bad for the British nation. He soon had to figure out what kind of a operation they had run into. John was already calming down as his eyes fluttered close. John's reaction had been programmed. Shutting down his brain when comming to the wall of _Knowing the truth_.

Mary looked at the older Holmes and nodded. She knew John wasn't a fainter. He was corrupted while being drugged. This was dark. Very dark indeed. Finally he got to look at his younger brother staring ahead, eyes wide. Not quite there. Like he was waiting for somethng to happen. When John was out he coughed to get Mary's attention. Sherlock was waiting for something to come. And he looked shocked. lying still in his bed. Pale and scared.

"Brothermine." Mycroft felt bad for him. At it was notible in his voice. But he had to try. "Care to... Care to _chain_ in with us? we have a problem." Sherlock grunted. Mary bit her lip while grabbing a hold of John's still limb hand.

"It's true," Sherlock whispered. I have said some things... I must have... Information is a valuable asset." Mycroft cursed. "You did not fight. Your hands.. no visible scars. Except for the bruisings on your wrists. You knew the bommer case was solved. So what were you doing in the woods?" He had to make it quick. These things can make a person drain very fast. Sherlock already started to tear down, he got fainter in his eyes as he spoke. "But it was in the woods. The cabin. They had to be carefull. The cab took us..." Sherlock's voice died down. Hands shaking and hs face sweating in fear. "The corpse... They started to kick it. They said it was John. It wasn't but I believed them." After a sharp inhale of air Sherlock's stomach started to make unhealthy sounds. He was getting sick. Again.

"No no, Brothermine. Relax. You're fine. You're safe. Its okay for you to sleep now."

"Piss off, Mycroft," a sudden outburst of his former self was gladly taken by him. It told him his brother was still there, intact. Just a bit used up by the bad ones.

"Hm? What had happened?" John asked confused while grabbing ahold of the situation. "Did I faint... again?" Snorting about the embarrassement towards the older Holmes. "It's okay, John. Glad you're safe. Please just don't do that again from now on," Mary muttered. Meanwhile Sherlock shifted on the mattress, realy trying to get some sleep. He was still so weak. But at least his eyes started working normal again.

"Mary? A word?" Mycroft eyed the hallway as soon as John was seated on his chair next to Sherlock. The female Doctor had released him yesterday but John had never left his friend. Only once to take a shower at home. That other bed was still _his_ , if he wanted to stay for the night. As he got his mind back together again and saw Mary walk out with Mycroft he snorted. "Why is Mycroft still here, Sherlock? I thought he didn't like to hang out with people." The doctor glanced at the half sleeping detective. Sherlock grunted softly. "Mary is no people." John blinked. "Excuse you?" Sherlock heaved a sigh, very weak he got after that weird talk he couldn't even remember by now. "Friend of family," he whispered. John was actually fond of that. But not of Sherlock feeling sick. Noting the hands crossed over his stomach, still feeling nauseated.

...

"You will have to be careful with him. We still don't know what they programmed into John's mind. It's for the best if he stays here, I can arrange that. Same goes for my brother. They will need protection. Surveillance. Don't let John know what's happening to them. For all we know he is part of an terrorist attack, neatly planned and ready when to shoot." Mary nodded.

"I understand."

Mycroft nodded after giving her his private number. "If something has come up." Mary took it at got back to her sweet poor husband.

...

AN: While writing this I got a bit scared myself. Not only for the grammars I tend to make A LOT. But the things I did to them :( Shall I continue? Review!

x

Josie


	9. Woman in green

Later that day, Sherlock felt a bit better and found out the headrest could go up and down. Clearly indicating to John that Sherlock had forgotten about the first day in the hospital. Well, understandable. He was a bit off back then. The good thing was that he was back and although not quit fully present. But he was indeed getting better. While Sherlock sat straight up, resting against the vertical headrest, he manage to look around the room. Taking it all in like it was for the first time. They didn't spoke. It was more like a thing John enjoyed to watch. See his friend deduct.

"Where is it," he suddenly asked to his friend. John looked unsure.

"What?"

"The painting. It has been removed from the wall recently," he watched the doctor's reaction. John just bit his lip hiding his grin. "Well... there was a clown on it. An I hated it." Sherlock frowned but then started to chuckle, until his head pounded. "I have tucked it away behind the closet." It made them chuckle once more. "Mycroft fears clowns, you know." John blinked in awe. "He does?"

"You will be surprised how high he can scream. But... don't let him know I've said that." Sherlock looked great. He was smiling. Eyes started to bright up again. Slowly gaining his strength back.

"How is the pain?" John asked quietly.

"Bearable. How's your head? You look healty. Why are they still keeping you here?" John cratched his head slightly ashamed. "Well ah. I tend to faint a lot. Mary thought it was for the best to stay here with you while the nurses kept an eye on me. Mary has a belly and can't pull me from the ground everytime." Sherlock understood.

"I not mind. I like a bit of company. Hospitals are boring."

...

Mycroft got some news. Evidence, mostly. It pains the older Holmes to look at it. The cabin has been found, leaving Mycroft astonished about his brother's strength to register his surroundings while being in the state he has been. The pictures laid afront of him now. Exactly how Sherlock had described it, the cabin was horrific.

There was a corpse. But it wasn't human. Just a deer, been death for a weeks. Red was painted on the walls, just for the drama. It was just paint. The blood that _was_ precent however, was fresh. Mycroft sighed. The results were in his hand now. It was the blood of his little brother. Sherlock had been tortured. Mentally and physically. The chains had been used, still remaining some of his hairs. Mud from under the shoes matched with the mud there. Cigarettes had been pushed out on the table, like John had described. It told enough for Mycroft that what had happenend had been bad. And the best way to figure out what they had done to their brains was to unlock it what has been placed there. And no one better that himself could do that. But oh this would be unpleasant.

...

policemen standing afront of the room when a welldressed woman came towards them. "Gentlemen," she greeted them politely. After she had identified herself as Anna Stirlings, a trauma therapist, she was let in.

Sherlock had fallen asleep with an unsolved crossword puzzle still on his lab while the doctor was reading some kind of book, at the side of his friends bed. He looked up at the sudden visit and dropped his legs on the ground that were resting against the hospital bed.

The woman came in to their room, dressed in a lightgreen dress and hair pinned up in a classy bun. She holded a file and smiled at John specifically. John knew by now that this lady was here for him. John lowerd his book down in expectation. "Hello?"

"Doctor Watson, Hello. I am Anna Stirlings. Your trauma therapist. I was called in by Scotland Yard." Her accent was American. She held out a hand, and her smile was so pleasant John had no problem meeting her. He dropped his book and got up from his chair. As soon as he gave in to her gesture he felt a slight pinch in the palm of his hand, sending a shock through his spine. Her smile dropped. "Sit down," she whispered stern. John blinked at her in shock, immediately knowing this wasn't right. He noticed himself sitting down like she told him to. The woman was now leaning over the young detective. "Sherlock. Don't make a sound. Forget that I was here," she whispered. When John wanted to say something he noticed he couldn't speak. He was fully aware of his suroundings but he couldn't move. Not until he was told. The doctor sat up straight like she asked. Looking at her, waiting. Like a dog for the promised bone if he sat still until his boss was pleased. That terrifing feeling creeped up at him. "Let's talk about your assignment, shall we?" She started to get close to him. John held his hands flat on his lab. They had started to shake a bit. "You know where it is. You know what to do. I am giving you the exact time and date right now. Tomorrow 1:06 at night. Get to it." John swallowed. "Understood," his voice caught his ears. The woman in green smiled again. "Great talk, Doctor Watson. You liked this talk when they'll ask." She stood up from her chair and walked back towards the door. She left the building. Leaving him there, under the influence of liquid devilsbreath.

...

Molly came by to see Sherlock at last. At first she was shocked about the news her beloved man had been in an accident. But she couldn't get herself to see him just yet. scared of what she would see. Finally got the courage to go because Sherlock was doing better. She was let in by the policemen and as Molly wanted to see Sherlock right away she found the doctor there, sitting straight up, pupils pinpointed. Shaky posture. "Oh John. Hi. How are you?" John didn't answere. Frowning she got closer. Taking it all in. Sherlock was sleeping. Unsure what to do she got to the chair across from John. "John? Tell me what's wrong." John blinked up at her. "Nothing is wrong. I had a good talk with the therapist." He smiled but his face was all blanc and clammy. "Well, you look kind of stressed, actually? want me to call Mary?" she asked unsure. She had seem patients before looking in shock like that. "I'm calling Mary. Say something." John blinked. "Oh God yes."

...

AN: Getting wierd all of this, I know. Just hang on. It will be great ;)

Review :3

X

Josie


	10. Don't Ask Just Say

Molly Hooper was not prepared for the stressed condition she'd found Doctor Watson in. At first when she's promised to call his wife John looked relieved. But after she had done that, John kept himself really distant. Stiff as a brick, staring in to nothing. Sweat dripping from his temples. Pupils really narrow. Shaking like a leaf. Although she had medical training and her fair share of incidents at St. Barts; with live people.

This wasn't something she could manage. John was either in shock or having a seizure. But it wasn't good and she had to call his doctor. "Sorry, John. If it's okay with you, I'll push for the call button. You're looking quite peaky and I am not sure what to do. Please try to stay calm." She was going to stand up now and walk towards the sleeping mans bed, using his button. John gasped.

"Thank you," John replied shakily and could finally relax a bit. Really odd, indeed. Panting and closing his eyes John started to calm himself down.

"John? Are you..." Molly thought this was very concerning. "Are you in some kind of trance?" Again, John couldn't answere. He was compelled to do whatever she said. He was not allowed to speak or answere a question for himself.

"Please answere me, John. Mary is on her way, same as your doctor." John blinked up a her. "Molly," he tried. The question wasn't clear.

"Yes John?" In a awkward minute of silence she Looked at her detective. Still not fully awake but making an effort to wake up. "Sherlock?" she tried. As soon as she laid her hand onto Sherlock's the door flung open. It was John's doctor, followed by Mycroft.

"Alright Miss Hooper. Step aside. We'll take it from here." Molly was shocked when Sherlock's brother showed up in such a hurry to get to the patient. Meanwhile the female doctor flashed her light into John's eyes. "Yes, he is certainly under the influence. I don't know for how long. Nobody got in here except for me and nurse Gillian." Molly thought it was for the best to keep out of the way. John was handled down on the ground by the doctor, putting him on the side. "Relax Doctor Watson. Just going to take some blood." She took her syringe and filled it up with blood. Mycroft was now standing over his younger brother wanting him to wake up. Sherlock was stirring a bit by all the commotion. John himself was growing a bit more stressed, Molly could tell. Everyone just forgot about her, she was standing there by herself like always. And she wasn't going to leave either.

"I'll bet it is the same drug you've found earlier. Damn Devilsbreath. How is it even possible? This is an secured aria. I've checked it myself. No one was allowed except for the list of names I had given."

The doctor went away for the results, leaving Molly with Sherlock's brother she barely knew. John was starting to freak out while lying onto the ground on his side with no controle of what so ever. She could only make him feel better by kneeling beside him, hand fel on his shoulder.

"M-Mycroft? What's going on? Is John Watson drugged?" Mycroft had nearly forgotten about her and took in her presence with one single glance.

"Quite afraid so. Did he say anything about a visit?" Molly remembered something. "A Therapist." Mycroft snorted and looked down at the short man.

"Doctor Watson. Tell me who was here?" John blinked and nearly yelped at his release to get some words out. "The Trauma Therapist from Scotland Yard. I've had a great talk. It was a Great talk." Mycroft cursed. John sounded so scared. Molly gripped his shoulder tighter when John repeated the word _Great_ over and over in such a forced happy way.

"Mycroft?" a faint voice came from the hospital bed. Sherlock was back. Molly instandly stood up to greet her detective. "Ah Brother Mine. Tell me how you could've missed John therapist comming in?" Sherlock blinked confused; still not fully awake. Pretty normal for someone who has been tortured apparently, giving him a cracked skull and recently had surgery to drain the pressure, for God sake. His stunned face met Molly's and a faint smile got to his lips. "Molly?" he asked, having no strength to put on his "high functional sociopath" mask yet. "Sherlock, hi." There wasn't more for them because Mycroft interrupted them.

"Someone has been here, unauthorised, and drugged your friend. God knows what he has done." Sherlock startled. "John?" He looked at the empty chair. Almost got up from the mattress if Mycroft hadn't pushed him down. "He is here, brother mine. John, say hello to Sherlock. Let him know you're here. He can't see you."

John started to whimper from all the build up stress. Molly patted his shoulder. "H-Hello Sherlock, I am here...Ssh..." He wanted to say it was a _she_. But couldn't. "What was his name? The therapist?" Molly asked? John blinked up at her in total loss. Molly didn't ask it right.

Finally Mary got in, trying to rush towards her husband but it got harder within her last weeks of pregnancy. "John? Tell me what happened." John smiled at the sight of his wife. "I-I had a great talk with the Therapist," he replied. Sweat was allover and his lips had no colour in them. Mary could tell immediately that her husband was drugged. "Tell me the name of the therapist." John nodded relieved.  
"She _he had to point that out there_ calls herself Anna Stirlings. Headache." John gulped hard. He was finally getting better at this.

Mary frowned concerned. "Pupils almost gone. Heartrate accelerated. John. Look at me and relax. Or you'll going to have a heart attack." John nodded again. He tried to lay still but while the drug stared to lose its full effect, John's body began to shake more.

Sherlock looked at his brother in total panic.

"Just ride it out, Doctor Watson. You'll be okay in a bit. Listen to your wife," Mycroft murmured as his eyes locked onto his younger brothers face. His hand still holding him down, in case he tried again.

It took awhile until the female doctor came back with results. "Devilsbreath. At this quantity we can't sedate him. He needs to ride it out."

"Can we at least make him more comfortable?" Molly asked, Mary smiled at her sweetness.

"His bed," Sherlock pointed out, feeling so useless, still looking at his older brother. So much feelings on his face. It shocked Mycroft, and had the urge to pat his chest. So he did. _Why not?_ Nobody was watching him. He grinned fondly. Sherlock truly cared about his _best_ friend.

...

John was well aware of his surroundings. He felt sick and scared but he wasn't allowed to talk. Alhough he could look around again. Seeing his wife talking to Mycroft. Molly to Sherlock and the doctor long gone. "Scotland Yard does not know a Trauma Therapist by Anna Stirlings. This is gone too far. We need to take my brother and Doctor Watson to a secure facility. Something more private." John blinked tiredly. His hands started to itch. He was comming to.

"...M-Mycroft... She said _forget_... to Sherlock... she knew us... American... accent," It was quite a struggle but John got it out there. He felt so drained after this he could sleep for a week. "Let's get to it then. I'll arrange the transport. Get them ready." Mycroft said as he left the room with his phone in hand.

Mary got to him with a sigh. "We'll take you somewere safe." John nodded and fell asleep wih a smile. "That's right. Sleep it off, John." A kiss planted on his forehead.

...

AN: loved it? hated it? I didn't have time to make some more. It will get freaky. Reviews are very welcome. Tell me I suck writting please! I can't stop and need to do other stuff hahaha xD

X

Josie


	11. The blistered moron and the other one

It was early in the morning when the consulting detective walked through the buzy streets of London. He had been at St. Barts for an experiment, just to kill some time while John promised to work out their latest story for the blog at home with Mary. It was quite unusual for Sherlock to be up at this hour. Normally Sherlock will be still in bed. Since John was married to Mary and lived on the other side of London, he started to pick up on the old habbits of staying up till he fell over. Now that another expirement was done Sherlock decided to take a long walk back to Bakerstreet. Just to keep his head clear and his energy flowing. maybe he had overdone it a bit. He was getting tired. With that he grabbed himself a coffee from a little coffeeshop on his way home. What the consulting detective didn't know was that he was been followed by two men. One was on the other side of the street. The other got up from his bench and moved towards him. At that time Sherlock got distracted by the textalerted noise. Mycroft was sending him a text.

 _'Forget about the bommer, he is been taken care of-MH'_

Sherlock snorted. While slowing his pace he was typing back but someone pushed him from behind. Nearly knocking him off his feet by surprise. A really unpleasant feeling in the back of his neck had shocked him. Causing his phone to slip through his fingers. It made an awfull bounce on the sidewalk, and by the sounds of it the screen must've broken into thousand pieces. Luckily, Sherlock had some fast reflexes and regained his balance while throwing his hot coffee in the attacker's face. When he turned to look at the man, he covered his face in agony. It was hot, that's why he couldn't drink the coffee yet. The people that walked by just didn't care, all so swallowed up into their personal bubble, to Sherlock's annoyance. As soon as he wanted to pick up his phone another man from across the street ran him over and grabbed him by his scarf. By now Sherlock knew something was very wrong. Not with the situation. But with him. He was getting weak in the legs when pushed forward, again, shoving him with his back against the lamppost. He couldn't speak just now. Not while a hand was nearly choking him. _Why wasn't anyone alarmed?_ A sudden cab stopped affront of them and Sherlock got pushed in. The cab driver was a woman. While the one attacker got in aswell the woman smiled at the consulting detective. It was hard not to relax when he was sitting down, at the moment. The punch had stunned him, obviously.

"What is happening? Why am I in a cab?" his voice broke on the edges. He felt wierdly distant, and that was not how it supposed to be. Not for Sherlock.

"Text your friend, mister Holmes. We are going to make a nice little trip to the woods."

His own phone got dropped on his lap. The screen was broken but still functional for the most part. Remembering his friend wasn't at Bakestreet he wanted to say that he would be home with his wife. But he texted him anyway. Not really seeing the error. He wasn't thinking straight. He just did what he was told.

"He is typing on his blog, you know. Won't be here soon. You'll have to wait for him, considering the time the traffic his full on awfull. It will take him at least an hour, asumming his wife won't drive him over here." _He was talking fast. Why was he talking fast?_ Sweat started to form on his forehead. _Shock? NO. Drugged? Oh god._

"Why am I drugged? What is it? I am not familiar with the side affects." Sherlock had to ask because, as an addict he fairy knew when he was about to get high on something. Mouth was starting to get dry. Sight became brighter. He felt calm, eventhough he knew John was going to get in trouble because of him.

"Text him," the woman barked.

...

Sherlock had skipped an hour because when he opened his eyes he wasn't alone in the back of the cab, anymore. John was propped against his shoulder, face soft while sleeping against him. There was no sign of injuries. No blood, from what he could see. So that was okay. The cab was still driving with the woman still behind the wheel.

"Where are we going?" Sherlock asked, still a bit unsure either this was real or some kind of wierd dream. The woman looked up in surprise.

"I told you to sleep and wait. You're strong." Sherlock blinked at her voice. She sounded oddy compelling. "Yeah, well. I am aware of my tolerance after being addicted on cocaine in the past. T-the other men, where are they?" Sherlock looked around. They were out of town, so definitely an hour had passed. Sherlock was starting to feel really concerned. John was still out, leaning against him like a deadweight.

"They had to make some arrangements. Don't worry. go back to sleep. It's still half an hour till we get there." Sherlock nearly grinned incredulous. He wasn't going to sleep. Not now! He had to make some kind of move to get out of this cab. But... he soon felt the urge to close his eyes. The last of his perceptions were John's head lulling against his shoulder at the taken turn towards the left.

...

Sherlock started to feel sick at the movements around him and opened his eyes. He was man handled out of the cab by the two men he'd already met. The one who got coffee in his face had a nasty blister on the tip of his pointy nose.

"Put me down! Morons. I can walk on my own." When he stood his head got a bit whoozy but he could manage. His eyes wandered over the aria. It was cold and chilly. Now Sherlock missed his cloves. Taking in the sight of nature Sherlock remembered that woman talking about the woods. She was gone now. But where was-,

"John? Where are you?"

John was still in the cab, hunched forward like he was about to puke, cupping his forehead; but otherwise he was fine.

"Follow us, Mister Holmes, and drag your dog with you." The man with the blister obviously meant John.

"That is slightly offensive, you know," John muttered while getting himself out of the cab. Their eyes met quickly. Both were okay for now. John gave his friend a slight nod, Sherlock smiled at him. Glad he was fine. There was still no danger while both were fine.

...

After a fifteen minute walk, with both armed men behind them, John made a gesture only Sherlock would understand. This was their change to surprise the men and head back to the cab. They were not paying enough attention to the fact that John was pretty good at being a soldier. Sherlock himself had the fastest reflexes a normal human being could get and both armed men were just smoking while giving them directions through the woods. The guns weren't even off the savety-pin. When John did go for it, Sherlock knew what to do. He turned around blasted one hell of a kick in the guy's stomach and took the gun. John had the man already on the ground with a strangling grip, most impressive, indeed. But it wasn't over yet.

The man Sherlock had kicked was gathering himself and pulled the consulted detective towards him, by his coat. John had pushed his baddie onto the ground while sitting on his back, holding the hands forced behind his back; he wasn't going anywere.

With a gulp Sherlock dropped on the ground but wasn't going to let himself get caught. He kicked the man in his nuts and rolled him on his stomach to punch him in the kidneys. But when he did John was the one who yelled, while dropping onto the ground by some force. The larger man had John within his powers now. He used the gun to slap him at the back of his head. Sherlock saw him going down. This was bad. He wasn't going to leave his friend. He made a vow.

"What the hell was that! You will regret this, Mister Holmes." The man got up, panting the pain away that Sherlock had caused him. John didn't get up when kicked with the tip of the shoe by the man who had knocked him out.

"We gave you a change to cooperate. Now we don't have another choise." Sherlock knew better and put his hands up in defeat. His blue-green eyes never left the sight of his unmoving friend when his baddie punctured him with something. The world started wavering a bit, just like the first time. That weird unsettling feeling came back.

"Now get up." Sherlock wanted to look up at the man but fell on his back. He looked up at the sky. Clouds. the man hovered over him in a big frown.

"Better not be an overdose. Get up or I'll shoot your friend." Sherlock blinked. Vision distorted. His mind got cloudier with the second time. _What was this stuff? It's strong._

"Do not hurt John Watson, he is about to become a father," he blurred out. They took him back on his feet before they grabbed the doctor from the ground.

"Then walk. No tricks." Amazed by how he was still able to walk, Sherlock did his best not to fail the given task.

...

...

"Brothermine?" a voice came from a far distance. Sherlock had to make some effort to reply. Slowly his eyes started working again and saw a face hanging over him, but his vision was still kind of floaty. Same as his mind.

"MhhhmCrft." He started to recognize the soft chuckle.

"Hm, Yes. Alone at last. How are you feeling? You slept quite a lot. In fact. You've been sleeping the whole day away." The pain radiating from his head started to come back and Sherlock had the urge to touch the source. Of course Mycroft had to stop him by grabbing his hand. "Don't do that. The stitches needed to remain sterile."

It took him some time to understand that he wasn't in the hospital anymore. Mycroft had moved him in some private room, God knows where. While taking in the surroundings, Mycroft let go of his hand, Sherlock didn't even know he was still holding it. Vision had finally improved and he could see his brother sitting on the side of his hospitalbed. A nicer bed, he had to be honest.

"R'membrring John fainting?" his voice still sounded terrible. It made himself cringe. "Yes, that's correct. But you might allready suspect something is wrong. I was hoping you would be able to tell me more about the kidnapping?" _Actually, he had some flashbacks... But the images already started to fade away again._

He had to make it quick, then. While looking for the button to get his headrest upwards, Mycroft stopped him immediately.

"Not this time, Brothermine. Keep your blood flowing in that brain of yours. This is very important. I need to know what we're dealing with."

Sherlock understood the urgenty. So he did his best.

"I was on my way to Bakerstreet..."

"Yes. Molly Hooper told me about the experiment you did in the early morning. She also said you didn't took a cab nor bus, so you walked home. What about the attackers?" Sherlock blinked at the speed Mycroft wanted to take. It was too fast. He had to think hard for every word he wanted to say. Mycroft must've notice his struggle and started to fiddle with his infuse tab. Suddenly his pain started to dull.

"Two men took us to the woods. The cab driver was a woman. Her voice was compelling. I kicked him in the nuts." Mycroft pulled a brow.

"Two men and a female accessary. Who was taking orders?" Again, Sherlock had to think hard. His question surprised him.

"I-I don't know. But I remember falling on my back looking at the clouds. John was hurt. He got knocked out. I made a vow, couldn't leave him there." Sherlock knew he wasn't making a lot of sense. His brother had to make something out of this. And he tried.

"That's all I know. Apart from being drugged and not able to counteract with the attackers."

"They did something to you and Doctor Watson. You know what it is?" Sherock heard a pencil scraping against the paper. Mycroft was taking notes. It frustrated Sherlock that he couldn't remember the most crucial parts, yet. All he saw, while trying to get deeper into it, was dead John and a lot of blood. A constructed image to scare him away from the truth. Fear got the better end of him.

"I want to see John now, Mycroft. I want to see if he is okay." But Mycroft wasn't surprised. He already knew about the walls they had put up into their minds.

Mycroft also knew he had to break them down. Starting with his brother.

"Tell me about how you and John got out of that situation? You two walked back through the woods together?" Mycroft wanted to know how his brother managed that. He was badly injured. Sherlock actually whimpered at that one. He didn't remember, yet.

"S-Sorry... Can't remember... A-All I know is that I am feeling very uneasy, Mycroft. There is a pit in my stomach. Something is going to happen. Soon."

His older brother smiled warmly at him. It was very uncommen. "You are aware of the tears falling on the pillow, right? Poor Brothermine. High functioning sociopath, shedding some actual tears." A hand patted his chest.

"We'll get back to it. Just rest up. That silly crossword puzzle lays on the nightstand, if you want to." But Sherlock was not in the mood. He felt so guilty for not able to help his big brother out. "Maybe John would know more." Mycroft nodded. After a moment of silence the older Holmes heaved a sigh and stood up. "I meant it when I said to rest up, Sherlock. You still need time recovering. The Doctor told me how lucky you were while not slipping into a deep coma. You don't even know how close you were before they decided to operate you. So... rest up. And do not feel guilty."

Sherlock looked at the standing form at the foot of the bed. It reminded him to compliment him about the nicer bed.

"Thanks brother dear," he mumbled without actual saying what he wanted to. A chuckle was heared until the door closed.

...

AN: It took a while. Normally I would go on and on chapter after chapter like a creep. But anyways.. Still like it? Let me know. I've got so time now... while in the hospital myself.

X

josie


	12. Patient One Zero

The effects of being constantly dosed by devilsbreath was taking a stroll on the Doctor. His heartrate spiked at every sound or movement. Therefor he was put in the private room next from Sherlock's just in case. John also had difficulties to remember things for the past three day's, a common side affect. That was why he was being watched 24/7 for his own good. There was no slightest idea what the mystery woman had told to the doctor and for all Mycroft cared it could be dangerous. He had a few thoughts about this lurid secret operation. Most likely John was programmed to attack a certain person of importance. It was for the best if they kept him calm while he was trying to get a few more answeres out of his younger brother.

Because of his odd panic attacks by every sound, John Watson wasn't allowed any visitors for at least the following 12 hours. Just to help him relax. One dose of devilsbreath could take 3 days, at most, to pass through his system. So Mycroft wasn't sure his little chat with him would do him any good for now. Sherlock was the only one he could talk to, if he was up to it.

He had to wait till tomorrow. Luckily, his younger brother wasn't dosed up by the mystery woman, thank God. If that was the case right now, Sherlock would be better of with a coma. His vitals showed he was weak. His heart would have stopped instantly. Sherlock's bloodpressure was very low and thanks to the concussion his motorfunctions were scrambled, making him very clumsy and helpless. Rest was what his younger brother needed the most.

All Mycroft needed was patience.

It was hard. Mycroft was a busy man. Today he had to cancel two meetings including one with the prime Minister. Everything could wait. He needed to know what had happened to his Younger Brother and his friend.

...

 _Flashback_

...

John Watson shivered against the draft comming towards him. The uncomfortable coldness caused him to whince. Slowly the Doctor noticed the chair he was sitting on. Flashes of what had happened earlier crossed his mind. _He fought back. He got punched. They were kidnapped._

 _My God, head hurts!-obviously. Eyes can't open yet..._

Someone was there with him. He could hear the short puffs of air like someone was in pain.

"John? You there?" _It was Sherlock._

A barely recognizable voice woke him up completely. Eyes popped open in fear.

"Sherlock?" John gasped at the deepness of his friend's voice. _Was he hurt?_

"Where are we?" John asked when he looked around in horror. John wanted to cup his painfull head but his hands were tied up behind his back. He was seated affront of his friend. Sherlock watched him with a defeated glance he would never forget. _Oh the poor soul. He looked terrible._

 _What had they done to him? His white shirt under the open coat was_ _lacerated on the top and smeared with blood. Where did the blood come from?_

 _"_ Sherl... What have they done to you?" he had to ask. Sherlock just blinked.

"How are you feeling, John?" he asked shakely. His hands where chained down behind his back and the doctor could see there was a bruise forming at the left side of his cheekbone.

"I am fine. Just a little shocked seeing you like this. Where are we? What is going on?" Sherlock heaved another sigh and started shifting his shoulders for some relieve. But he couldn't do much.

"You have been out for... maybe an hour. I was worried. They want me to tell about _patient one zero_." Sherlock whinced at the footsteps comming from outside. They came back. And it scared Sherlock.

"They also told you to forget about the cabin. Please John. Listen to me. Do not get fooled by them. I might be drugged and say things I would regret later. It is what it is. Just try to remember those three words for me. Because.. I might forget it later." John blinked up at his friend waiting for the words to come. But when he finally spoke the door opened with force. Two big shadows fell on them.

"I thought I heard the Holmes talk. His boyfriend is awake."

"Finally."

John perked up pissed-looking but just had not the strength to tell the guy's he wasn't his boyfriend. Would they fucking even care about their sexual orientation? _No._

One man approached him with some sort of pointy thing, John couldn't tell what it was.

"Don't worry now, Watson. You have it easy, compared to your friend. You only have to listen what the woman is going to say. Your own assignment. Like a good little soldier." John tried to look at the man but his chains were tucked, giving the doctor no room for movement. He could only sit back like he was instructed. The man pricked him fast and forcefully. immediately he regonized the starting symptoms. He was drugged. _For what? Probably to make him more cooperative. Just like Sherlock. Poor sherlock He did not say a word. He couldn't. He was just panting in short painful huffs._

"Wait like a good dog, Doctor Watson. Let the drug consume your mind. Don't talk, just watch." John gulped horrified. He was already showing some effects of obeying. Meanwhile the other man had taken up an old rusty chain, from the ground near the detectives feet. A rusty chain.

"Please," the poor man begged. John wanted to get off his chair and fight this man. But he was chained up himself. Instead he wanted to look away, finding out he couldn't. He was told to watch. _Sherlock! what is happening? Why are they doing this to you?_

Sherlock whinced in fear. He knew what came next. The look in his eyes, John felt his heart break. He had seen enough soldiers on their last straws of life in the battlefield. This was one of those looks.

"Tel me again, Mister Holmes, why you can't tell us more."

 _Sherlock got hit with that bloody thing! That sound! Oh my God!_ He heard his friend scream in pain.

"Tel us more, why can't you?"

"B-because I don't know a-anything about P-Patient One Zero! Be more specific!" Blood now leaking out of his mouth.

 _..._

 _end flashback_

 _..._

It was like a knive slashing through his brain. One piece of memory came to mind about that horrible place!

"Sherlock." John sat up in his bed. Sweating and shivering by this haunted memory.

 _Patient One Zero._

Despite his shakiness, he had to write it down somewhere.

...

AN: Sorry about the other chapter's confusion. That is why I used "flashback" notes in this one. It is very late. And I wanted to make one more Chapter before I go home from hospital. It was no biggy. Just a bike-crash. Something a leg cast could fix ;) Stupid me. I hope you like this shorty. Couldn't do more for now.

Please leave a review!

X

Josie


	13. The mad pen taker

So frustrating, waking up from a terrible nightmare in a big unfamiliar room. With no memory of getting there and why. And the only thing you can remember was to write something down but there was nothing to work with! John cursed while crawling over his mattress, trying to find a pen and a piece of paper on the other nightstand. If he must, he'll carve in into his own damn skin! There was nothing to use on that nightstand either.

"Christ!" he cursed again and smacked the mattress with both hands. "Fine! I will do it! Patient One Zero! Can anyone hear me?" John had no idea why he just yelled that aloud. He started to unbutton his pajama blouse and started scratching into his own chest. Sweat was dripping from his nose and the salty taste on his upperlip told the Doctor that he had been sweating a while. When he found out his nails didn't break his skin, because they must've clipped them short, he looked around. A tiny handmirror was within reach on the nightstand and he took it. _If he would break it he could write with one of the..._ But when he saw his own reflection John Watson gulped in abhorrence. His skin was deadly pale making him look very sick. It shimmered with a great sheen of sweat, making him look plastic. His eyes were big and dark. On the edges he could see some redness. His hair was sticking up at all places and he looked like a student who just woke up after a night of drinking with friends. John assertively fixed his hair, while slowly understanding the fact that he was been taken to a hospital of some sort.

 _He was taken to a hospital... But, what about his dream? Was Sherlock okay? Vage... vage memories of torture and that glance. The blood smeared curls._

John shivered in fear as his shoulders tensed up. The sudden knock on the door made the Doctor nearly wet himself and used the handmirror as a weapen if needed. Something was done to him and Sherlock and he needed to protect himself from any danger! A burst of anger came out.

"Stay away! Just... do. not. come. any. closer." He gritted his teeth as his eyes locked on the doorway like an animal. John noticed his heart rhythm was rising. He was all ready for the fight. When the door opened. Someone stood there, blocking most of the light that was comming from the hallway. He didn't look like he was going to hurt him. John blinked at him in confusion.

"Doctor Watson, what on earth are you raving about?" The voice was calm, and oddly competitive to Sherlock's.

A chuckle came from the hallway, slowly the tall figure came inside. John finally noticed who it was.

"M-Mycroft?" The handmirror lowered as the man slowly walked across the room. Some of his muscles relaxed a bit. Mycroft was good people. If he was on his side, the British Nation was also. "Christ, Mycroft. What the hell did they do to us?"

The elder Holmes was now standing at the foot of his bed and greeted him with a nod. Yet, a very questioning nod.

"And why were you undressing yourself?" John felt himself turning red in shame and started to close his buttons. Hands were shaking like a leaf.

"What is going on, Mycroft?"

"Wel, I was going to ask you the same question." he replied while opening his little notebook. John blinked at the pen. _He needed to write something down. For Sherlock! That was what he was trying to do! He needed it!_ _He had to write down something._ While chewing his underlip tensely he suddenly hunched forward to grab the pen out of Mycroft's hand. Startled by the movement the elder Holmes took a step back.

"I need to write something down, now," was about the only thing John could say as an apology. Mycroft was a bit unsure at first. His questioning look made the Doctor feel uneasy.

"Sherlock wanted me to write it down before they took it out of him." By the mentioning of his younger brother's name, Mycroft carefully gave the Doctor his little notebook. When John started to write, Mycroft could see by the force he wrote it, had to be a very dramatic memory.

"Patient One Zero." John repeated while looking up at the inpaled Holmes. The notebook was given back with the pen, luckily still in one piece. Mycroft took it back with a polite nod. After this outburst of energy the Doctor started to calm down on his own. John knew he was screwed. If he wasn't calming down, Mycroft would run away or tranquilize him. It was fair, he would do the same if he was dealing with a mental patient.

"What about that? Sherlock said this to you? When?"

 _Sherlock, poor man. His eyes... he can still feel them, burning a hole in his breaking heart. They tortured him. And all he could do was watch._ His shoulders slumped down in defeat. what a sad memory.

"I-I remember his face, Mycroft. I know that look. He was giving up. I've seen it on the battlefield while tending fatal wounds of the fallen. The loss in his eyes. He was so sure this was going to be the last moment. He got hit and hit. Until the woman came." John closed his eyes, hands tried to hide his face. Shoulders were shaking. Eyes were leaking some of the stored tears, waiting for day's to be shed. Something broke inside him.

"I have lost my best friend. Again. And I couldn't save him."

Oblivious at what to do next, Mycroft just stood there, watching in terror how the Doctor broke down. He wasn't good with that kind of stuff. Maybe it was for the best to just let the man cry. It took a little while until John was able to look up again.

"Sherlock. Is he okay?" His cheeks were pink, eyes red with tears still rolling down. It was hard for the older Homes to look at the Doctor.

"Well... Doctor Watson. My brother is doing better. He is sleeping in the room next to yours. Despite the fact that I don't mind taking you to him, I have a strong doubt it will be for the best right now. Your emotional state might alarm him. Also, moments ago you attacked me for the pen. I think it will be for the best if you calm yourself down first. If you need assistence, I can call a nurse for some sedative." That made John well aware of his mental state. He sat up in surprise by his coldness. And maybe Mycroft was right.

"Oh. I understand. My apologies, Mycroft." John rubbed his bedsheet over his face and sniffled a sob away. "As long as he is okay. Let the poor man sleep. I'll be waiting here."

With that, John got under his covers again, hiding his entire frame, shielding himself from the world. "Just let me know when he is up."

Mycroft nodded fondly. He knew how stern he could be. Luckily Doctor Watson was a good man. He onderstood what he meant to say.

"I will."

...

The poor Doctor was in a rough state of mind. He had been like this for nearly eight hours, after he was taken to this secure place. There was no way he would let the Doctor near his younger brother, now. John was unpredictable, mentally unstable and very very fragile. By far a look that suited him. After stroking his tie over and over Mycroft made the final decision to report his new information.

 _"-Sherrinford. Governor speaking."_

"Hello this is Mycroft Holmes. What do you know about _Patient One Zero_?"

 _"-..."_

"Yes, get it out would you, I don't have all day."

 _"-H-He died two weeks ago, Sir. He suffered a Heartattack. Died instandly. They brought the body over to st. Barts, like I was instructed. He should be still there now. They shipped him two day's later."_

And then it happened. Something fell onto it's place. The body! Patient one zero. Lary Banks Jr. The American mindreading Psycopath that killed a number of randomly chosen women without leaving a trace. They recently trapped him during the act and took him to Sherrinford because of his abillity to read minds. Lary Banks Jr. had a sister Lorena who disappeared after his arrest. She could be behind this... this crazy operation. Mycroft remembered Molly Hooper saying something about Sherlock being with her the day he was taken. Now he had to check up on her to see what the hell he was doing back then.

 _"-Mister Holmes?"_

"My appologies, Governor. That's all. Good day." His eyes turned big after he ended the call. Finally some answers to this wierd mystery.

...

AN: Like it? Hate it? Let me know.

x

Josie


	14. The truth is in the tooth

Molly Hooper wasn't at work when she got a call from Mycroft Holmes. She sat in her kitchen at home reading some old autopsy's she did earlier this month. She was asked on the phone to head back to st. Barts. He would be there aswell. And that could only mean there was made some progress in the case involving her detective and John Watson. Glad that she could be any help, Molly dropped everything and started gathering her stuff to go out. She wanted to know about Sherlock but he didn't reply. _"-Just come to the mortuary, we will talk later."_

"Anything For Sherlock Holmes, Mister Holmes." That didn't came out right. But ah well.

When she got there, a body was already prepared for the second autopsy.

"Oh, Mister Holmes. What is this?" she awkwardly walked towards the table, instead of greating her detective's older brother. While pulling off her coat, colourfull scarf and handgloves she got right into the file on top of the body.

"Lary Banks Jr. Cause of death: Heart attack. You've already established that, as far I could see from your report. Now, is this the man Sherlock was messing with during his experiment before he got kidnapped?" Mycroft was fast, leaving her no time to chat, because he wasn't interested in her. He wanted answeres. Plain and simple. Molly didn't mind. She was used to it. The only problem was that she always managed to ramble and making it very awkward for herself.

"Oh is this the man who kidnapped him? Because he was pretty cut open during that time. Uh. Oh, sorry. No. Sherlock was just mixing some bloodsamples with acid to kill some time. But he was very interested about his teeth. Nothing important, really. He mentioned that they looked too white to be real." She smiled nervously. _Well, it wasn't that awkward this time. Just a little bit._

"Show them, would you mind?" the older Holmes asked.

"Oh, ofcourse." She opened up the body's mouth after she fastly put on some rubber gloves. Mycroft stood behind her, looking at the white teeth over her shoulder.

"This man was a lady killer. He obviously made some effort presenting himself. Sherlock is wrong, though. They are real. I am certain of it. Just good taken care off. One molar is missing. Odd. Do you have his dental recorts?" Molly frowned. Of course she has. But, was that important? After browsing through the report she found what Mycroft was asking for.

"Oh. Report says he wasn't missing a molar before. You're right. That is kinda odd." Molly was confused. "He could've just lost it during the transportation?"

Mycroft nodded but his face was grimm. After he wrote something down in his little notepad he spoke again.

"Most likely. Or it could be taken out. There are cases about smugglers using fake teeth filled with microchips to cross the border without getting arrested. But I might be paranoid, as usual. Please find it, if you can." Mycroft gave her an apologetic look. She nodded back in her goofy monkey glance Sherlock always seemed to remark without even looking.

"Also, just to be sure. Can you find out what cause the heart attack? His young age with no family background of heartproblems is telling us something." Molly nodded again.

"That is what I was thinking. So I checked for any type of poison, the results were inconclusive. There was a trace of alga under the toenails but it didn't show up on the second test. Stomach was empty, no traces that the stomach acid couldn't handle. The digestive system was clean and normal. Liver fine. Everything was fine. Exept for a tiny scar on his chin. But that is probably nothing. Just a shave accident." At the last one Mycroft perked up.

"Nothing is nothing, Miss Hooper. Show me." Molly blinked surprised at the older Holmes. Was this really important? Maybe. She had seen Sherlock work things out by the size of someone's fingernails.

When Molly pointed it out Mycroft took out his glasses. Weird, she had never seen him take out his glasses before. Maybe he was reaching middle age problems. _How would it look on Sherlock?_ she thought quietly.

"That is a shave accident, nothing indeed. Well, Miss Hooper. Thank you for your time. I think this was all. When you were away I let your colleague handle him on the table. If you would mind putting him back yourself? Or if you want to look him over for a second time, you'll be more than welcome. This was a dangerous man. He has a sister who is most likely behind the abduction of John Watson and my brother. So if you find something else, please let me know."

"Oh, how is Sherlock doing?" Molly had to ask because Mycroft was already heading for the door.

"He is doing well. Although I am concerned about his delayed responsiveness. He is very slow." Mycroft stood there for a moment, thinking about why he just let his thoughts spill out to her. This was a private matter.

"Don't worry, Mycroft. He is strong. Give him my best wishes."

"I will, Miss Hooper." He was human afterall.

...

After a good amount of rest Sherlock slowly awoke to the rushed noises behind the door. Something was happening in the hallway. But it wasn't his problem. He had no problem. Not now. He felt a lot better. His headache had subsided to a dull sensation. After a pleased yawn the consulting detective started to shift around on his nice warm bed. Everything felt so good, right now. Even the air on the tip of his nose. Such a good day. It was quiet. It was dark but ot to dark. He was feeling all cozy in his given teal-collored pajamas. No overflowing details invating his scrambled brain. It was like a vacation, right now. One he needed for a very long time. A giggle escaped from his bruised lips. The left side of his head, though. It felt like it was made of glass. Cold, breakable, unusually heavy. _A window to doubt?_ Another giggle. Unknowingly he started to trace the injuries with his fingers and stopped at the stitches. _Oh that's right. They drained my brain. With a Braindrainer thingy. The doctor._

A frown was developing on his injured face. _This was no joke. He was braindrained._ His fingers patted his head and stroked his hair carefully. Suddenly shocked at the tiny bald piece around the stitches. Now it really wasn't funny anymore. They took his curls?

 _"No don't do that. The stitches needed to remain sterile,"_ Mycroft said earier. He remembered his little chat vaguely. So his hand traveled back down again. Sowly. Another obstacle was noticed. Sherlock tried to look down at his chest but his neck muscles were like sea weed. He tried to understand what was happening there by touching the few wires attached to him. It must be one of those monitor thingy's. Not good to touch one of those either.

After some fiddling he got around the bed remote control and moved the headrest up. Finally he could take a good look around. The room was nice and cozy. Not too much light. Just a few spots to make it a lot more like home. Mycroft had done a great job making him feel safe. Kind of sweet, actually.

His left middlefinger had one of those clothespin on it that made his finger glow red like ET. At that Sherlock was fairly sure he had some sort of fancy painkillers in his system.

Then his door creaked open. If Sherlock wasn't so chilled out he would startle. Now he just watched the figure coming towards his bed.

"Mycroft?" he asked hopefully. He had to thank him. But it wasn't Mycroft.

"Sherlock, nice to see you awake, you've had us a little worried. How is that funny head of yours?" Sherlock blinked.

"Lestrade?" The man grinned.

"Quite so. Hope you don't mind. Mycroft said it would be okay to see you."

He looked at the detective with great interest. Sherlock could see the man was truly here to see him. Lestrade must've been there when he was pretty smashed up. Luckily he was a bit better now and that was a good thing to share.

"I am doing better, Lestrade." The grey man nodded contently.

"You look better. How is the pain? Still seeing double?" Sherlock blinked up in confusion. He was asking too much at once. Greg understood and tried again.

"Does your head hurt?" He was talking a bit slower and Sherlock could tell on his posture something was troubling the detective inspector.

"Nothing I can handle. And my eyes work fine. Just... feeling a bit hazy when sitting up." He was honest.

After a moment of silence Sherlock got curious and had to ask. _Something very important was missing in this room. Something he couldn't miss._

"Lestrade? How is John doing? I haven't seen him. And you're constantly looking at the door. What is going on, down the hall? I heared voices."

The detective inspector's face dropped. Sherlock had to compliment himself. Still able to do deductions, while being dosed up with painkillers and a bad concussion.

"Yeah, about that. John Watson isn't doing so well at the moment. I don't know If you remember, I wasn't there but... John got drugged by a woman pretending to be a trauma therapist from Scotland Yard. He is still pretty out of it. I wasn't aloud to see him just yet. Mycroft told me he was being attacked so they sedated him until the drugs wears off." Now Sherlock looked worried.

"The voices in the hallway. Was that John?" Greg bit his lip in sorrow.

"Yes. He tried to get to you, looking very angry. I am so sorry. But Doctor Watson isn't himself right now."

Sherlock didn't know what to say.

"Also... I didn't come here to upset you. I have something else. A very important question I would like you to answere. If you are up to it?" Sherlock blinked with an empty stare. Eyes still fixed on the door. But he heard him.

"What do you want?"

"Something I found in your coat. I forgot about it until Dunnovan brought it up again. She sent her love, by the way." Sherlock snorted but was

interested when the older man taking some kind of evidence bag out of his jacket. Too bad Sherlock couldn't see through the fogg while sitting up.

"What is it?" he had to ask while taking it from Lestrade.

"I was going to ask you? Did you loose a molar during the beating, Sherlock?" Now the concussed detective examined the human tooth with care.

"Not that I know of, why?"

Lestrade grunted confused. "So it's not yours? Is it John's?"

After looking at it for a while his vision started to blurr so Sherlock had to give it up. With a shaky hand he gave the molar back and closed his eyes. One hand was pushing the bedrest button to go down. His peacefull bliss started to fade away, making his way for the headache. When he opened his eyes again Lestrade was near his side now, looking intensly at his vitals on the monitor.

"You're in pain. My mistake, Sherlock. I shouldn't come to you with this now, this can wait."

"No. no It's okay. It's just." Sherlock rubbed his eyes. "I don't have my magnifying glass, Giles. Maybe later I can examine it some more. It does look fake. The tooth. But I am not sure. Sorry. Painkillers making me woozy."

 _Woozy? Really? Not a word he would use for this._

"I understand, Sherlock. Why don't you take it easy. Keep the tooth. Maybe your brother will get you a magnifyer later."

"Don't feel bad. It was nice seeing you," he blurred out. _Painkillers..._

It made Lestrade smile, though.

...

AN: Suddenly I remembered a scene from Chuck "the truth is in the tooth" but that was after I wrote this chapter. I hope you liked this one.

x

Josie


	15. All you care about, is

It was a honest mistake! How was John suppose to know he wasn't aloud on the hallway? John just wanted to see his friend. He was his doctor afterall. _But no._ They had to grab him by the arm as soon as he lifted a foot out of his doorstep. _Why?_ Why was he treated like some sort of maniac? Maybe if they had told him first about his limits instead of pumping him full of Haldol forcefully, he would have behaved! It was probably Mycroft's idea. No one can come near his precious little brother.

John Watson was strapped down on his bed. Although his mind was still raving in anger his muscles terrible weak. _Weakened by them_. Why did they handle him like a lunatic? _For God sake._ He was kidnapped and mentally tortured by seeing his best friend get murdered, sort of murdered, for information Sherlock didn't know. He wanted to see how he was doing. That's all there is!

Okay... he might have overreacted at one of the nurses by pushing her against the wall. But he wanted to see his friend. She didn't let him.

...

As soon as Mycroft was back at the private hospital he got informed about John's outbreak. Geting tired of this situation Mycroft rubbed his eyes as he walked in on his brother instead. He was surprised to see that the curlyhead had turned himself on his side while working on something with great interest. He didn't even noticed his presents until Mycroft walked closer in view. Sherlock was looking better this evening. Some colour was back on his cheeks and his hands looked steady enough to hold something small. When Sherlock looked up to meet the gaze he nearly smiled.

"Mycroft? this is no regular tooth. I don't have my tools but I can see something metal on the edge. Please would you look in to it? My head hurts." When Sherlock held out the missing tooth Mycroft froze in awe. "How, in the name of God, did you find it?" Sherlock blinked while rolling on his back again.

"I... thought you gave it to me. It was here when I woke up. Er..." Sherlock knew that wasn't right. _'Oh that's right!'_

"Lestrade. He was here, apparently I had it in one of my coat pockets." Without words Mycroft snatched the tooth from his little brother in total perplex.

"It's from the body at St. Barts you apparently examined before you where taken." Sherlock thought about that for a second then shrugged. "Could be. For some reason I don't care. How is John?"

 _Don't care?_ Mycroft was flustered.

"When can I see him? Or did you lock him up somewere like a lunatic?" Sherlock did not let his brother react to his question as he already made up his mind.

"Take me to him, please. I think I am up to it."

"Yes, well. We can arrange that in a minute. But before that, brother mine. Can you please try to remember why you took this tooth from the dead man? Did you deduct something on him? Something important? Something more important than burning bloodcells?" With that question the concussed consulting detective grabbed his head while thinking hard. Eyes jumped from left to right in the proces.

"Er... The man on the table. I was there. But... I can't tell you anything. Sorry." It had shocked him. He wasn't allowed to tell anyone about the body. He was possibly programmed to forget him. Or it was just his fractured brain. Either way. Sherlock did not remember.

Disappointed, Mycroft heaved a sign, hopefully not too obvious to his little brother.

"Fine. Wait here, I ask someone to get you to your dear Watson." He left his younger brother with those soft spoken words.

...

 **AN: Too short for thing long time! I know, I know. But some things can't be avoided.**

 **x**

 **Josie**


	16. 1:06am

**AN: I am back! I tried to ignore the passion but I couldn't! Sorry for the grammars. I looked over this chapter a few times and corrected stuff. I hope you enjoy my story once more.**

 **x**

 **Josie**

...

Only hooked to one IV bag, Sherlock got wheeled towards the room across the hall by a male nurse called... _erh... Edward Something. Boring to remember. Or he had just forgotten about it._ Either way, the concussed Detective was eager to meet his best friend. It had been so long since he'd seen him and there was a lot to chat about, now that Sherlock was a bit more coherent. Mycroft had taken off with a hurry but had made a promise to come back later. Sherlock had not missed the clasping hand around the evidence bag, containing the tooth. The tooth must have been important, more than his reunion with John. Ah well. It was all good, though. Looking down at his bare feet Sherlock hasn't missed the cold draft coming down on him. Suddenly a cold chill went up his spine making him feel small and weak. At least he did not get too dizzy by the slow moving wheelchair.

"Alright, Mister Holmes. Doctor Watson attacked one of our staff members. Therefor strapped down. He's highly sedated for his own good. I was ordered to tell you to stay in the seat. Talk only."

Slowly, Sherlock glared at the male nurse, not missing the drak circles under his eyes. Sherlock knew things could be harsh when working close with his big brother.

"What are you suspecting me to do in there? Hug him and dance around in our gowns?" The male nurse smirked at that one.

"Your words, not mine, Mister Holmes."

Sherlock heaved a sign and shifted in his chair.

"Fine. Open up already. I would do it myself but my hands are too far from the doorknob, you know." Sherlock knew his voice crackled on the edges.

...

The first look up on John wasn't so pleasant as suspected. The small man was swallowed by the darkness around him. Strapped onto his bed that looked giantic compaired to his lifeless body. The only thing that told Sherlock he was still alive was that whisling noise coming from his nose as the former army doctor breathed. Sherlock had always been secretly fond of that noise. Especially if he got very mad at him.

As the male nurse wheeled him closer to the bed Sherlock felt a pang in his heart. He felt sorry for the man. They had been through a lot of crap and this wasn't the way he wanted him to meet, again.

"There you go, Mister Holmes. There is your friend."

 _Sherlock took the time to take it all in. When he was in his own room he kinda hoped for a better visit. Him being wheeled in to a room where the dear Doctor was reading his book, droopy eyed as they had said he was drugged up. He got to greet him and he got to say something back at him. And then they talked. At some point the male nurse got tired to hear them jab about things and left him there. Just until Mycroft found out that he wasn't in his bed._

But this was the reality. John was really drugged. Not able to talk. And he wasn't able to talk either with a nurse at his side.

"This is kinde disappointing." The male nurse chuckled.

"Told you it was."

Sherlock watched the Doctor lay still like that for a while until the nurse heaved a sigh.

"Is there anything else I can do for you? Need a blanket? You're shivering." Without looking into the man's eyes Sherlock nodded absently.

"Blanket sounds nice, Edward."

"Alright. Don't move. I'll get you something."

Sherlock's eyes were locked upon his friend's face. He was awake. But his eyes weren't looking to anything in particular. The dull stare. His grimm and sad features. There was nothing left of him. It was hard not to reach out to one of his hands and touch it to see if he could get a reaction out of him. Letting John know he was here.

"John?" Sherlock whispered hoarsly. The wheelchair creaked while he tried to come closer to his ears. A horrifying flashback of a bleeding John afront of his feet came to mind and Sherlock gulped.

"John, are you okay? i heared you were trying to visit me in my room but got stopped. What was going on?" Sherlock blinked.

John stared at the ceiling with half lidded eyes. But there was a moment they fluttered.

"John it's me. Sherlock. You don't need to be worried anymore. I am doing better now, see? Came to visit you. Look."

Nothing.

Nothing more that a tiny muscle quiver as response. So that told him he was somewhat awake, but too drugged up to react.

Too bad. Sherlock bit his bruised lip.

Was this a mistake, coming here?

"I-I am in loss of words, Dear Watson. I wish this was a dream. We're not in controle of things." Spoken from the deepest of his heart, Sherlock shivered at his own words. It was true. They were not in controle. This made the doctor hum in agreement.

"Sherlock... you're okay. But I am scared," a faint whisper followed.

He tried to say something else, that sounded not so scary to his own ears. But he was in loss.

"It's okay, John. Just don't hit somebody from now one, alright. I am scared what will happen to you if you piss my brother off, some more."

Then John's lips cracked to a smirk.

After that Sherlock froze...

He was never good in this. Talk. He just sat there, feeling a bit dizzy and tired. And cold.

John's glazed eyes tracked his friends hands and locked up on the IV tube coming from his polse. Sherlock had missed that as he struggled to sit up straight. By the time he looked back at his friend John had his eyes closed.

The male nurse came back with a blanket. He draped it over his legs and shoulders. Somehow Sherlock had to close his eyes for this. Shielding himself against the touches. He did not like to be touched. Not when he was so weak.

A moment of silence came over them. It was clear that the male nurse was getting annoyed by this pointless visit and wanted to suggest to leave the Doctor be. Just until the meds were out of his system.

But ... Then out of no were, John Watson started to speak; strattled both men.

"I have a question... " he said calmly, and so like himself.

Sherlock gasped, nearly smiled at the relieve this visit wasn't a mistake. He talked more, now.

"Ask away, Doctor Watson," the male nurse replyed after Sherlock failed to express his amazement further.

"Just to be... ehhh... aware of at least one thing... what time is it?"

 _'What time? Really John!'_ Sherlock huffed. He glared at the radioclock and then to Edward.

"Just passing midnight, Sir," Edward told the Doctor with a polite smile.

John's hands made fists.

"Be more specific, please." A short glance shared with the male nurse Sherlock spoke up with a confused frown.

"1:00 am. Why? Need to be somewere or something?" It was some sort of joke but it got one hell of a reaction on John's face. He looked up at them. Eyes big and very frantic.

"Call for Mycroft please. I have to tell him something. Now!" Put down with meds or not, John Watson was making amazing recovery right now. Sherlock wasn't sure why or what had gotten in to him but he was just very pleased to see him talk some more.

"Of course, Doctor Watson. I'll try to contact him immediately. Hang on one moment." He excused himself and walked down the hallway. Leaving Sherlock behind iin his wheelchair. At this moment Sherlock smiled he had holden it back for the male nurse.

"John. You're okay. I am glad to see you around." He was sure John had made a likewise reaction but the small man just shot him a fast blank stare.

"Not now Sherlock. I'm doing something."

Sherlock huffed. "Like what? Playing tuna in a can?"

John was determined at his task as he started shiffed himself in his bed while the belts creaked under the tension.

 _'Weird... something is playing him. But I can not tell what has gotten in to him?'_ Sherlock thought. He wheeled himself closer to his friend. And that was a mistake.

"Oh Sherlock. That was dumb."

John grabbed ahold of his IV tube. The needle that stuck in his polse started to sting painfully. Sherlock grunted in shock and astonishment.

"Hey, let go of that!" The IV tube was all he could grab while being strapped to his bed like that. But the Doctor took what he could get. His dark eyes looked at him with a stare Sherlock had never seen on him. It was scary.

"I need the needle, Sherlock. Take it out, or I will." Sherlock just froze, not able to react at this. He was still so weak from his injuries. His mind was slow and easilly overwhelmed. This was too much to understand. So he let the man take his IV needle out and watched in shock how he started to bleed . Meanwhile John managed to get the needle under the belt buckle.

Tiny little blooddrops itched his hand as Sherlock slowly sat back in him chair. His heartrate was rasing so bad. In total loss of words he gasped at the delated pain wave coming from his arm were the needle had been. While John was struggling himself loose, there was one little moment where their eyes met. John frowned his excuse to him. Sherlock nearly missed the message.

"I have to," the Doctor whispered. It had shocked him so much Sherlock almost lost the ability to breath. But he understood it somehow. With that he wanted to help his friend. He trusted him. So he nodded.

"Then.. let me help," he whispered back. With shaky hands he tried to untie him. John looked at him in terror. But couldn't object. As if that was everything he did not want him to do.

At that moment the male nurse came in.

"So Doctor Watson Mister Holmes is... Woah! W-what the hell is happening here!" One hand was already freed in that short moment of time alone. Sherlock stopped when the nurse came in. But John never stopped. He couldn't. _He wasn't alowed._

 **/John's Flashback/**

 _The woman came in to their hospitalroom, dressed in a lightgreen dress and hair pinned up in a classy bun. She held a file and smiled at John specifically. John knew by now that this lady was here for him. John, who was reading next to Sherlock's bed, lowered the book in expectation. "Hello?"_

 _"Doctor Watson, Hello. I am Anna Stirlings. Your trauma therapist. I was called in by Scotland Yard." Her accent was American. She held out a hand, and her smile was so pleasant John had no problem meeting her. He dropped his book completly and got up from his chair. As soon as he gave in to her gesture he felt a slight pinch in the palm of his hand, sending a shock through his spine. Her smile dropped. "Sit down," she whispered stern. John blinked at her in shock, immediately knowing this wasn't right. He noticed himself sitting down like she told him to. The woman was now leaning over the young detective. "Sherlock. Don't make a sound. Forget that I was here," she whispered. When John wanted to say something he noticed he couldn't speak. He was fully aware of his suroundings but he couldn't move. Not until he was told. The doctor sat up straight like she asked. Looking at her, waiting. Like a dog for the promised bone if he sat still until his boss was pleased. That terrifing feeling creeped up at him. "Let's talk about your assignment, shall we?" She started to get close to him. John held his hands flat on his lab. They had started to shake a bit. "You know where it is. You know what to do. I am giving you the exact time and date right now. Tomorrow 1:06 at night. Get to it." John swallowed. "Understood," his voice caught his ears. The woman in green smiled again. "Great talk, Doctor Watson. You liked this talk when they'll ask." She stood up from her chair and walked back towards the door. She left the building. Leaving him there, under the influence of liquid devilsbreath._

 **/John's End Flashback/**

"Can't stop. Must have Mycroft, now. But you can try to stop me." John spoke flat and formal but the vibrant tone betrayed own struggles. The drugs that were still in his system messed with his skills but he'll managed to untie the belt arround his upperbody. "P-please stop me now."

Sherlock started to breathe superficial. His eyes turned big and bright. Edward was going for the alarmbutton net to the door but the face the younger Holmes made stopped him for a moment.

"Please, Edward. Let him do whatever he needs to do. I believe he has no other choice," Sherlock spoke in short huffs while turning paler within every breath he took. Edward blinked. John was infact frowning at what his friend said. But didn't stop doing what he was doing

"Sorry, Mister Holmes. I need to follow my orders." So he pushed the damn button and a red light starts to blink. Within seconds another nurse came in and run towards the patients.

"Take Holmes back to his room he needs to be treated for that wound. Watson pulled out his IV. I'll take care of the Doctor."

John shot a pleading look at his friend. He felt sorry for him but there was nothing he could do.

"Stop me, please," John whimpered as he managed to grab both nurses arms and gave a headbutt. The other male nurse grunted at the force as his knees buckled. Sherlock only caught a glimpse of his bleeding forehead when he got wheeled away by him. Mycroft was rushing down the hall with another man on foot.

"What's happening?" Sherlock shook his head in loss of words. He was too dizzy with thoughts. Everything had started to spin around him and he knew this was not the time but his body started to give in to the nausea. His stomach was bubbling and he was very close to puking when the man who wheeled him away started to speak.

"Doctor Watson, Sir. He attacked him."

That made Sherlock stop from puking all over his own lap.

"No.. he didn't." After swallowing hard he knew he got his attention.

"He needed the needle. I think he is programmed to do something. F-flipped after asking the time. If... if we wanna know what is happening w-we need to letting him do whatever he was programmed to do."

Mycroft eyed his younger brother sternly. It didn't take long for Sherlock to retch everything he was being holding back out of his stomach and that was something Mycroft never wanted to see him do again. If there was more time he would have been helped but there were other things on hand, now.

Before Mycroft left him with the nurse he gave Sherlock a strong squeeze in his hunched over shoulder. "Clean him up, would you?" Sherlock heared his brother say. He didn't get to hear the rest of it, though. Only the heavy breathing pattern of the blond male nurse. After getting wheeled to his room he almost blacked out completely.

"Sir? Hold on," was about all he could here.

"Don't worry. I'm still here. 'M just very tired..."

But the pit in his stomach grew while thinking about John.

...

John did his best to get away but Edward was stronger than him. When Mycroft rushed in the other man, who was with him, took ahold of the patient aswell.

"What is it, Doctor Watson? I am here." Mycroft stayed for his own safty out of reach from the man. It didn't take long for the Doctor to calm himself down.

Without any warning he let himself be pushed down against the matrass. The force caused him to gasp a bit of air. He was strapped in quickly.

"1:06 at night. I needed to do something. Take it! The location. What ever happens. She needs it. If it wasn't for them... I had already manage to take your life after asking for the location. The prison." John grinned at the succes of being stopped.

"Poor Sherlock... he wanted to help me..." John laughed weakly when he surrendered to the men. In total shock Mycroft had to hold the jamb.

"Now I am done. Finally. Free." John was so relieved.

 _The prison. Sherrinford!_

 _"_ Sir, should we administer sedative?" Edward asked.

"Well, yes. Thank you." Spooked by all this, and with the lack of sleep, Mycroft let his head rest against the wall.

 _Sherrinford. She wanted the location. Of course. But why? What was in there what she wanted?_

"I need to think for a while. Please escuse me," he said later, after the Doctor was out for the count.

He left the hallway in a hurry, not stopping at his brother's room. He needed to investigate the data in the tooth that would explain things. Now!

...

When Sherlock got helped back in his bed he started to wonder why. Why John was programmed to do things. Was it because he was his friend? was it his fault? With that he heaved a sigh. It was... He texted him to come with on a case. He had remembered that.

He should be more carefull from now on. Never make friends with someone again. He would end up killing him in the proces. John Watson was about to be a father, of all things...

...

AN: Long time no see. But I am back! I hope you all still like this. I lost the motivation for a while when I saw I could not write that great in english. All those grammars make me look like a fool. But there are still people who love to read it and that won me over in the end. See you all soon :)

x

Josie


	17. She said if

JOHN'S POV- WHEN SHERLOCK WAS WHEELED IN HIS ROOM

Somehow John regained some of the memories from the kidnapping. Maybe it was induced by the lack of self controle, and the edge of falling asleep by this drug called Haldol. But it became much clearer within his hurting mind.

A few of these memories flashed by as a terrible nightmare.

The stained spots on the floor was the first thing he'd seen. It was blood, he realised, still dripping from the victim.

Sherlock was whimpering affront of him, only half awake by now. But he was alive. As long as he heared him whimper in pain he was still able to breath. Therefor not death. He could feel the drugs consume his mind, like they said it would. The men had left him alone for a short moment. John took this time to look out for his friend.

He couldn't see him. Not his face. It was too dark. As if a thick cloud of smoke was overshadowing him.

John couldn't speak anymore. Only just minutes ago he could. Now his mouth was able to move but the sounds he made was nowhere near what he wanted it to be. A faint strangled moan. Nothing more.

The pain in his bad shoulder was excruciating, the cold air made it worse. But the worst pain came from the back of his neck.

They had done something to him. The men with the beanies had prepped him for something.

He skipped a moment...

There was a woman now leading over him as he tried to sit straight as been told.

"Now. Doctor Watson. Since your dear friend isn't coöperating with us it will be in our great interest if you start telling the truth."

That voice. So interresting and yet there was not even a spec of emotion in it. It fell just dead to his ears.

"Where is this sherrinford?" the female voice asked. This time it got very close to his ears. "Tell me now. Or you friend gets it."

John shook his head. Not able to talk anymore. Everything that had been done to him was taking it's toll. He felt sick and scared. And what the hell was the woman talking about?

"Tell me where we can find Sherrinford," she asked again. This time she sounded a bit unsure. John had to close his eyes as his stomach started to contract. The painwaves didn't stop.

"Well it was worth a try. He knows nothing. The poor man." John started moaning in total missery. He felt so sick...

 _"Boss, I think he is done talking. They both don't know anything..."_

"Hell they do! I need what is mine. My brother gave his life for it. so I will do whatever it takes."

 _..._

John grunted. He must've blacked out for a few seconds because the light had changed. He was alone with Sherlock again. With great effort John opened his eyes. Sherlock was still whimpering in pain. But his breathing pattern had slowed down a bit. The smell of his friends blood, sweat and vomit filled his nostrils. John had almost forgot about how bad it got at some point. It was a wonder that Sherlock was still somewhat conscious. They had nearly killed him, though. He needed to stop the bleeding at least. "Shr'l..." John grunted, instanly felt the pain in the back of his neck return.

'Hhhhnn... John," his friend replied weakly. It was nothing more than a mere whisper. But it was something.

John tried to sit up. But his body was weak and cold. The chains around his arms started to get havy and annoying on his broken and swollen skin. "Sherlock..." he whispered. Exchanging their name was the best they good do. But it meant so much more. They were still alive. He smiled at his friend but Sherlock couldn't see him. It was okay. His foot reached out to give him some comfort. His shoe touched his. "It's okay. We are okay." Sherlock gasped when he tried to move his foot. But he managed to push his sole untop of him. It was a sweet and only gesture they could made towards eachother.

"Hang in there, alright. Don't die," John whispered again. He felt becoming strongernow that he woke up some more.

Sherlock nodded his head and wanted to say something but couldn't.

But that was when he heared some movements outside this damn cabin.

Voices. They were back again.

John tried to catch something.

 _"That doesn't make scense! My brother gave his life for this. It has to be on him!"_ The woman's voice spoke.

 _"Maybe the other Holmes intercepted the intel before it got to St. Barts. I know you're in charge but please. Those two are useless to us. What we need is the other Holmes,"_ one male voice suggested with a slight panic.

There was something said but Sherlock started to whimper in pain again. It was hard to focus on something else than his friend.

When it stopped John heared the man curse.

 _"It's not over yet...I think we might have the solution to our problems."_ The woman grinned. _"All we need is a bate, one hell of a diversion and more of that liquid substance. Those two can bring us closer to the target."_

 _"You mean them?"_

 _"If we plan this out good. This might work. It's his little brother and his pet dog, right?"_

Pet dog. John chuckled. After all he had been though... that assault was a bit funnier than the last time they used that comparison.

 _..._

 _A flashback interrupted. Another memory had started._

 _"1:06 am. 1:06 am. One job. One last thing left to do. Call for Mycroft when the time comes and kill him if you're able. Make sure he comes to you."_

John gulped at the voice he still heared. Suddenly able to feel himself strapped down on a bed. What was happening?

 _"When it's dark start asking the time until you hear it."_

That compelling voice hauthed him...

 _..._

Somehow other noises overlapped his wierd dream. Other voices came from outside this room. He could hear Sherlock!

That was were the confusion started.

His consciousness was starting to blend together. Not knowing in which reality he belonged, John just let his thoughts consume him for a while. Just until he had figure it out on his own.

Some time had passed. A few unclear flashes came to mind about him trying to get Sherlock movig towards an ambulance, the Doctor who pinned him down on his bed just until he didn't feel faint again. And an image of Sherlock vomiting over his bedsheet back at the hospital.

"This is kinda disappointing," Sherlock's voice broke through his thoughts.

John blinked at his image for a moment and watched is hands move around. The climpse of his IV was noted.

John mind slipped away again, drawn to her voice...

 _.."My brother was in a prison far far away, somewhere in the middle of the ocean. He was always looking out for me. One day I got this crazy phone call from a woman that she helped my brother grand his last wish. A gift. My brother Lary enduced a heart attack. And a final special gift from him was coming to me. A gift that would help me live a long and happy life. And that something is now taken by either your friend or his older brother."_

"John, It's me, Sherlock." Sherlock interrupted.

 _"I need your help, Army Doctor. Save me."_

"...Came to visit you, Look." Sherlock?

 _"When it's dark. Ask for the time. Save my life, Army Doctor."_

Suddenly shaken by the voice of Sherlock an terrifing image of him came to mind. His friend, barely alive, beaten by a rusty chain until he went limp. The look in his eyes. Pleading for a fast dead. John could only watch him suffer.

This image kept John away from the other voices, and came suddenly more aware of his suroundings.

He was here. In bed. Sherlock watched him struggle with his thoughts. Still John felt what he felt when he saw him nearly beaten to death. The fear of losing him and not able to defend him broke his voice on the edges.

"Sherlock... You're okay..." John wanted to smile but he couldn't. Sorrow crept over him.

"...but I am scared." Scared of what would come next. Because it was dark now.

He should ask. And he should get free. He needed Mycroft to be here.

He had to try and kill Mycroft on 1:06 at night. It was his assignment. His last thing he needed to do.

 _..._

The rest didn't go so well. It would have been better if Sherlock wasn't there. Of course John was glad to finally see his friend again, but he was helping him.

She told him **"if"**...

 **"If he was able he should kill Mycroft Holmes"** He could ask them to stop him. But he couldn't do anything else.

...

END JOHN'S POV

...

AN: How was that? Let me know, okay.


	18. The mistress

After Sherlock was taken back to his room, Mycroft was in a tough position. The top secret location of Sherrinford may have been already be compromised. He had to inform the governor. If Lorena Banks was looking for the location it was most likely he was the next target. In a way this was good news. Now they finally knew what the secret was behind the kidnapping. This little operation was all about information. A memory came to mind when John told him about what Sherlock said when he woke up to him. His brother had said it already: "Information is an valuable asset".

Selling this information to the right people could make her rich. But that was usualy were unexperienced sellers made the same big mistake.

It all goes downhill when someone like Lorena Banks start looking for answers. Asking others, spilling names and intell that she already knew, could make her vulnerable. Making it easier for the authorities to track her down.

The "legwork" Mycroft had to do now was huge, though. The secret had to stay save.

As the older Holmes took his place behind the desk he eyed the evidence bag with the molar in it. Sherlock was right about something. This tooth held the data of the most valuable secret of the goverment. The blue print of Hell.

It made him wonder, how could his brother have known that there was a big secret hidden within the corps of Lary Banks jr. that day? Did he already suspect something earlier?

Did she know he had it with him all this time, without Sherlock even realizing it himself?

Then came the tough position he had to make.

Should he tell his little brother about this or not? It would help them both if he did. But it can also expose something else. Something incredible dangerous for Sherlock's mental state. It will break him. And that should never happen. It would break Sherlock's world. The family secret has to stay secret. He promised to look after him. So _no_...

There had to be another way with this. But first they had to find this Lorena Banks and put an end to this. Before it was too late.

...

There was a small filty motel on the side of the road that had one room without electricity for days. The phoneline was dead and the bed had not been used for a while, leaing it's sheets gray with dust. The smell of rotten eggs comming from the bathroom overpowered the smell of molt. No one would sleep here. No one.

And yet, Lorena found this place a couple of hours ago. This forgotten place was just perfect. The perfect place to come in touch with _her_. Her mistress As promised.

It was time. 1:06 am.

"You've been a naughty girl, Miss Banks. Playing with dolls was never your strongsuit. Look what you've done to my dear brother and his playmate."

A woman was standing in the hallway. Her face was hidden in the darkness around her. But Lorena could feel her eyes.

"You're here. How did you know I as about to call?" Lorena was amazed by this woman.

"It's time for me to play, again. I never had a friend before. Do you like to be my friend? Do you like a game, miss Banks?" Lorena stood there. Her mistress.

"What is the game about?" she asked. The woman she got to see only once in her life, met her again. She never knew her name. She was just _her_.

"I fooled you. The game we had played this whole time, was just a derivation. 1:06 am. Your end. Your reach for help has not been heared. You can't cheat in ths game. Because I have made it. Now tell me..." The woman in the dark took a step closer towards her. "How does it feel to be the doll for once?"

 _Lorena thought about what she had tried to make it stop. the voice inside her head. She had told this John Watson her end, in a way. Only the words she could use without her mind shutting down. This woman had reached to her. Weeks before her brother took his own life. He had told her about this woman over the phone. there was someone in prison with him who could make her happy. This woman was able to bring them together for always. She only had to listen to her once. This woman had a request. One little thing she had to do for her. And they will be together as whished._

 _She only had to reach out to a certain Mycroft Holmes. And this woman had just the thing for this. His biggest sin. His biggest fear. Euros! Whatever that meant._

"You placed some doubts in my brothers brain. But you hurt my sweet Sherlock. All to make it _dirty_. You took it too far. Naughty girl. For this, I am a bit angry, miss Banks. You have been a bad doll. You found the edge. The edge of my brother's limited composture towards me and Sherlock. You've made the crackle. It's just an experiment from now one. What will he do? What will Mycroft do? Will he tell him? Will he come to me? Will he suspect something? Will he feel his mistake about letting me alone with that Moriarty? What will happen now?" The voice of this mysterious woman was light and emotionless. Lorena shrugged. she felt getting scared and unsure. But there was nothing she could do to stop her from doing what this woman want from her.

But her words made no sense to her at all.

"I-I don't understand a word you're saying. Are we already done playing?" Lorena tried to see a glimpse of the woman's face but the shadow kept her hidden. It was like this woman was never really there. Just a mere imagination in the back of her head. The inner-voice she can't ignore.

"Yes, Miss Banks. You are done. Please don't make this any harder on yourself and end this game. We're done. You're done. Bye bye." The last word almost sounded harse towards her but Lorena understood what the woman was saying. As soon as the woman left her. Lorena un did her classy bun. Re-did her lipstick and rumaged through her handbag. She took out a handgun. With a soft exhale she put the end of the gun against her head.

"It was fun. As promised, Brother. I will come to you, now. We have been apart for so long. I'll follow you." Without one single thought she pulled the trigger.

Her story ended there...

...


	19. The safehouse remembered

It took him awhile. The curage to face his little brother again. Sherlock was helped in a seated position from his hospital bed. A soft knock on the door made the poor man startle up from his crossword puzzle; totally surprised to see Mycroft at the foot of his bed.

"Oh?" was about the only thing that came to Sherlock's mind. And then it had struck Mycroft, how out of place his normally unfaced and ignorant little brother was. _'Will you ever go back to normal, brothermine?'_ he thought to himself. Considering his last medical diagnose, with this level of severe concussion the wires of his brain were connected differently. This could leave some damage to his normal old selve. In time they would understand and recognize these so called changes. But the damage would be most likely small. For example, Sherlock Holmes, wouldn't be able to from certain words. And most patients would devellop different tastes in collors and sports. Nothing very important. According to his doctor.

But Mycroft, on the other hand, had some concerns about his mental state of mind. His little brother had develloped some emotional differences that may have caused his doubt for the future. Sherlock cries again. He smiles. He acts like a normal human being.

Is it permanent? Does it damage his mental health. Does it effect his monitored state? About his past. The secret!

This thought made Mycroft wonder: _'would he ever be able to go back to his flat and be this so called silly detective he loved to impresionate?'_

With a certain stiff hesitation Mycroft came closer, softly placing his hand on his brother's ankle. Sherlock looked at him so innocent as if he didn't understand why he was touched. There was so much confusion going on. But it wasn't only Sherlock. Mycroft was lost aswell.

What was coming next? What should he do if there was no other way than tell the horrifying truth about his past? And what then? It would break him apart if he had to do that...

There was only so much they could say to each other. But according to Albert Einstein: _"Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live it's whole life believing it is stupid."_ It was sometimes better to be just there. Silence could say more from time to time. Besides... Sherlock always seems to amaze him. He can do a lot more then he gives him credit for.

 _'Just give it time,'_ Mycroft thought to himself.

This silence broke, however, when Sherlock dropped his crosswords next to his bed, with a heavy sigh.

"I might have made a mistake by visiting John earlier," Sherlock then said. Voice broken and weak. With a cringe Mycroft sqeazed his brother's ankle reassuringly.

"Now now, brothermine. No need to worry about that, now." Sherlock shook his broken head and rubbed his eyes, desperately trying to conseal his holdback tears. "I upset him. I made things worse. Should have waited until he was sober again. what was i thinking..."

Mycroft watched him with concern.

"You ehhr.-.." Sherlock still looked a bit pale from the event. "You look...good."

Sherlock chuckled at that. Because of the timing.

"Yeah, and you need to work on that whole bedsitematter thing. I know how i look. I do have a mirror." Mycroft shrugged as he finally let go of his brothers ankle. There was a long eyecontact.

Until the older Holmes couldn't take it anymore.

"Alright, brothermine. I'll fill you in since you have _asked_ me so nicely." Sherlock smiled at the annoyed glance.

"Finally. I knew you didn't just came to see me out of 'care'." Mycroft eyed him, but slightly enjoying this conversation. Because of the normalcy.

"Your _friend_ is fine. Everything is under controle. I assure you of that."

"Good... and did you get a change to look at the molar by any change?"

This suprised Mycroft; means Sherlock was doing better.

"Ah. Yes well... that was actually classified information info you don't need to know about. But I can tell you that you are off this case, meaning that i made headway throught this strainge abduction-event. After all the gathered intell I will give you the whole story. But for now i want to sort things out by putting a few men on it. In the mean time..." Mycroft stopped right there while noticing his brother Sherlock looking lost again.

"Brothermine?" Sherlock blinked at him, face a shade lighter.

"You will tell more later? Kinda lost me in the middle of the eh classified part. I ehh..." The poor man sounded embarrassed. He made a small gesture of rotading his finger around his ear. Making it look even more touching. "Zoned out there for a moment."

There was an uncomfortable reaction from Mycroft. He nodded at him and repeated his sentence more slowly.

"No apologies needed, Brothermine. I underestimated your... limit. You are tired. Please, do rest up. I will visit later."

"No it's okay, honestly. Please. Do stay." Sherlock nearly pleaded. "Tell me more about the woman. Do you know who she is working with? I remember us talking about it."

Mycroft, already turned at the door, stopped in his stride. Slowly he turned back to his brother.

"So you do remember that? Good." Not sure if this was good or not, Mycroft smiled hesitant.

"Are... are we in danger, still? Does she have what she wanted from us? Do you know why she took us?" The pen, Sherlock found on his lab, from his work on the crossword puzzle, now cracked under the strength of his grip.

Mycroft saw all the signs and sighed heavily.

"No. You two are save here. Thats why i brought you here into the first place. So don't worry. As for this woman. Our well-trained specialists are tracing her whereabouts down, as we speak." It was odd to see his little brother frown deep while figuring something out. He had a lot of difficulties getting his thoughts together but then he looked up at Mycroft.

"I remembering some guy mentioning something about a safehouse ten miles west of the cabin." His wattery eye moved from left to right in fast motion. Mycroft had to blink at this sudden memory coming out of nowhere.

"What else?" Already taking out his cellphone Mycroft started looking at the satellite map. Sherlock wasn't able to tell him more. But it was a point at the right direction.

"Nothing there, realy. Except for a burned down motel. Has been abandoned for years. Access to the airia can be difficuilt concidering the way has been overgrown by mother nature." As soon as he heared himself say 'abandoned' he knew his little brother just had give him a possible location of the woman's hidingplace.

"Well done, brothermine. I need to text the new intell. Will you be okay?" Sherlock nodded and watched his big brother leave in a hurry.

Somehow it felt so good. being able to help again.

Within the quietness surounding him now, Sherlock welcomed his slumber to take him for a bit. It was not that he had a choise.

He was pooped.

...

 **AN: Sorry it took so long. I was looking for some stories and remembered this one unattended for so long :O I hope you still love it. Please review and i will make an end to this :)**

 **x**

 **Josie**

...


	20. Shaving

And it didn't take long for the men to stumble upon the lifeless body of Lorena Banks. Shot out of this world with a bullet from her own gun. Suicide without no doubt. Prehaps the coldness of being lonely got too much to bare. She was always so fond of her brother. when he died things were starting to happen. Her motives for the kidnapping of Sherlock Holmes and his best friend John Watson would be a mistery. The guess of Mycroft would be her suspicion that Sherlock knew the whereabouts of Sherrinford. In one way or another. Lorena knew she couldn't get near him and took the thing closest to it. Mycroft should have known this was all about this would happen sometimes.

With her dead, some strings where still unattached to this problem. But her twisted way of getting what she wanted was over.

Now, with the biggest problem of this all... there must be something really wrong at Sherrinford. Prehaps a security breach. And there was only one thing Mycroft Holmes could do to sort this one out. Personally. He needs to go to Sherrinford. Beause to him it was impossible to get a hand on this blue print of Hell. Someone had to gave it to Lary Banks Jr.

But this could take days...

And this means that he had to leave his little brother for a bit.

Luckily some eager friend was happy to take his place; looking out for him and keep his little brother company. Molly Hooper was a great listener. And in a way, this could help Sherlock recover faster. Because ther was no presure between them. They were actually quite fitting. _'Opposite attracts'_ , so to speak. Not that Mycroft cared, of course.

Without visiting Sherlock again Mycroft had texted the little miss morgue doctor to take a visit if she wanted to. And she applied shortly after.

Molly couldn't stop smiling when she good out of the car and steered by a male nurse to the room where Sherlock was in. At the door she was left on her own again. And this took a moment for her to get herself to knock on the door.

' _What if Sherlock was sleeping? Ow, would love to see him sleeping!'_ It took her another moment but finally knocked politely. There was no reply. But she could hear him curse though.

...

"Bollocks!" The smell of fresh blood. A cut. He'd cut himself already.

"Stupid hand." The trembles had never stopped since his fractured skull. It limmited him so much. "Useless!"

The knock on his door Sherlock was never heared while Sherlock was a bit too busy shaving. When the door opened anyway Sherlock jumpscared at first. He nearly dropped his razor on the floor into the proces. Blinking at the light behind the person standing there, Sherlock tried to identify the visitor.

Molly Hooper had her jacket folded over her left arm, affront of her. With her free hand she greeted him with a shy smile.

"Hello Sherlock, Uhm Sorry for barging in like this." When their eyes met the room got very quiet.

Until Molly got a glimse of his bleeding chin.

"Oh, you got yourself pretty good there. Tender skin. With the bruises and all." Molly bit her lip to stop herself from babbling nervously.

Sherlock immediately froze. Making him look so vulnerable, in Molly's eyes.

"Shaky hands. Small mirror," Sherlock muttered. Shouders hunched forward, already acknowledge his defeat. He couldn't do it.

And it was hard to see him like this. But he was sitting up and Sherlock Holmes was looking better than the last time she saw the man.

"Oh it's okay, Sherlock. It is kind of dark in this room. No wonder you've hurt yourself," she tried with a cheery tone.

All Sherlock could do was nod. He felt a bit uncomfortable being like _this_ and around _her_.

"I agree," he finally got out.

Then, Molly made an decision. She nodded to the unsteady hands and came closer.

"Then, let me do it. Your skin can't handle another stitch. Almost out of room." She took the razor from him and got to it. Without ever giving him a moment to feel uncomfortable or something like that. She just did it.

And it was kind of relieving that she didn't make a whole thing about it, according to sherlock.

Molly secretly enjoyed this moment. Sherlock let her help. Not the first two seconds but he relaxed a bit. He even angled his chin for her to get a better view on her task. After she was done they didn't look at eachother at first. Sherlock mumbled is thanks and Molly nodded while putting his shavingstuff away.

"Is there anything else you want me to help with? I mean... i don't mind." She took her place on the chair, not to close to Sherlock wich was better for him. He sure loved his space.

Sherlock looked at his still trembling hands as he shook his head slightly. "I am fine, thank you," he replied softly. But then he remembered his little problem.

"What is the other word for 'unfulfillment'? 14 letters." Sherlock eyed the crossword puzzle on his nightstand that had been bothering him for a while.

That made Molly smile. She was good at these.

"Let me see." She took the little book from his still unsteady hands and looked at it.

"Oh... It is 'unaccomplished'. There." She wrote it down for him with the given pen. She was happy to help him with this. _Kind of cute_.

But then she notice some wierd scrablings on the side of the page.

Just numbers really. 1.0. 106. And a word. Written with a questionmark behind it. And with a quick look upon the crosswords puzze it made no sense to this answers.

"Sherlock?" she asked in wonder. Sherlock blinked at her in his unusual shy state of mind.

"What's about Euros? Planning to go on a vacation to Belgium, maybe? They have nice chocolate." She smiled at him. Sherlock shrugged. It had bothered him a lot. Everytime he closed his eyes he thought of this word. He was planning to ask his brother about it. Maybe it was some kind of keyword they used during the bloody interrogation he went through.

It has to be connected to something important. He trusted his mind, eventhough it had taken a bad beating. There was something about _Euros_.

"Sherlock?" Molly asked a bit concerned. Noticing his frown. Making the metal stitches look bubbly on his head.

"It's fine. I am fine." Sherlock blinked up at her. But his eyes traveled back to his hands.

"Just have this pit in my stomach from time to time, like something is going to happen and i can't stop it." He startled at his own words while shotting a glance at his visitor.

"Finish this crossword for me, please. I can't solve this on my own. And it keeps annoying me." Molly nodded unsure.

"Okay."

So she did.

Meanwhile Sherlock just sat there, staring at the ceiling. Zoned out and pale.

She didn't dare to ask him what was going on in his mind there. But from the looks of it, it wasn't very pleasant. Molly also noticed a lot of writing errors or words written so shakily it was like it was written by a drunk. It was heartbreaking and cute at the same time. But that made her realize she had a problem. She just liked everything Sherlock Holmes did. Except for him being an ass to her, sometimes.

 **AN: Another chapter out of the way. Next one will be more to the point, i hope. I just wanted a sweet moment with Molly again. lol. Sorry for being such a grammar-mistake monster. Can't help it but fix it when i come accross one. Please review :3**

 **x**

 **Josie**


	21. Reunion with a friend

"Sir?"

There was nothing that kept him from waking up and yet the pit in his stomach told him it was safer here in the dark. John Watson knew he had done something terrible. He had hurt Sherlock and scared him. And if it wasn't for wasn't for the men that restrain him, he would of tried to kill Mycroft aswell. His hands could of done some things he would never ever forgive himself for. Sure, it was all such a blurr but this horrible feeling swept over him every time he was tempted to open up his eyes and face the grey sober reality were he was _no cute fool_ anymore. But instead a drugged up lunatic who had nearly scared his best friends till dead.

"Sir," the voice that was still there, sounded a bit softer. Warmer and even sounded a bit sympathetic.

He parted his lips as he realised something was happening with his eyes. He was crying. _Why was he crying?_

A warm damp towel brushed his face softly and that was the most unexpected nice sensation he thought he would never get after what he did.

"Your vitals are back to normal. It would take a while before the last effects of haldol would leave your system, Sir. Maybe it's time for you to sit up and drink some juice. To help you with that. Blood sugar is a little low."

 _Juice?_

The curiousness of wanting to know who belonged to this angelic voice had tempted him to finally open his eyes. An unknown woman was washing up his face and chest while standing over him with trust in her eyes. S _he trusts him. Trust..._

"Oh, You're awake. At last. It usually doesn't take that long with other patients. But i understand you had been through a lot. Prehaps you were stalling to come back to reality." John didn't know he was looking at her in a questional grimas until she grinned.

"Sorry. I am a big fan of your blog. I just got in. Apparently you had injured a colleague of mine and was asked to come in."

A faint unsure feeling brought the Doctor into a sitting position, away from the woman's touch.

"Does Mycroft know about this? You're not going to stick me with something again, are you?" John was quite scared of the thought.

The woman immediately backed off with her hands up.

"Sorry? Sir?"

John binked, remembering that woman in green he had met before. Her face quiet hard to remember. But this one couldn't be her. It was the voice that was different. This nurse was someone else. He relaxed a little.

"Where's Mycroft? I need to speak to him." His back pushed against the bedrest. There was a little headrush when he did that but it didn't matter him as much as the very little space between him and the unknown woman standing here on his bedsite.

"Sir... I am not sure what i did in order to upset you this much. But Mycroft is out of town." Her voice frantic. But her eyes... still very calm. _That reaction. It was real. John could tell it was real. She was scared and yet she wasn't. It confused him._

"What is your name? Does Mycroft know about you working here?" John tried calming himself down. There was something he missed and it was all up to him asking the right questions.

"Sir. Of course. Mycroft has a list of specialists in case of need. I am working for mister Holmes for 2 years now. lease dont worry. As for my name... I am not allowed to give you my full name out of secrecy. But you can call me Riana." Her sweet voice was back.

When some time past with intense eyecontact John finally relaxed and rubbed his tired eyes, only then realising that he wasn't chained to his bed anymore.

"Wait... why aren't I chained?" Both happy and unsure.

"Yes. I needed to get you out of the gown and help you clean up." Besides that rather slightly embarrassed feeling, John wanted to make his serious point.

"I could have hurt you and escape to that door. How is Mycroft even allowing this? How are you sure i am not a danger to you anymore?" He glared at her in a weird untrusting way. The woman's eyed him with this uneasy smirk, making this kind of mysterious.

"Well, Sir. Like i said. Mister Holmes had his list of specialists in case of need. That should say enough, one brow pulled up after her smirk.

It took him some time but finally got it. It had caust him to chuckle a bit while covering his eyes in awkwardness.

"So... you are what.. like a hired muscle? Have a top grade in martial arts? Besides being a nurse?" He heared the nurse Riana chuckle as well.

"I might. Sir."

Face dropped in fascination. He peeked through his hands and blked at her in awe.

"Really?"

The nurse just shrugged.

After another moment of intense stares the nurse took a glass of juice from his nightstand.

"Your _Juice,_ Sir."

John took it and drank it without blinking away. His night gown still half open from the unfinished wash-up.

"After you are ready, I'll take you to the other Mister Holmes." John gulped his last juice away and almost choked at her words.

"Really?"

...

Memories of a cabin. Blood smeared over the walls, red stains everywere. The smell of death. Rotten meat. And pushed out cigarettes. The weight on his shoulder. Sherlocks face covered in dark spots, bruises and blood, pointing out his grey and almost plastic-shiny white looking color. The waves. The annoying buzz. The robes and chains. Smells... Everything came back for a moment, while rising from his bed. Joints popped and crackled from the stiffness. But the worst memory of this all was that blank stare of his friend. This defeaded stare. Lost and weak. On the edge of slipping away to his longing dead. Saying he was not longer able to remember things soon. and pleaded for him to remember these words: _Patient one zero._

It had stopped him from moving further to the door. Riana adjusted her grip as being affraid he would fall over.

The emotions weren't pleasant and John still couldn't supress them very well. The panic of losing him. Again.

"Sir?" John grunted.

"Please stop Sir-ing me! Would you! Just help me towards that door." He placed a quick glance at her. "Sorry..." he muttered. His forehead was plastered with new sweat.

He opened the door and found a guard standing in the hallway. It took him a bit back to the reality and nodded his greetings. At some point Raina thought John was sable enough on it's own and let him enter Sherlocks room while see stayed behind him, slowly backing away after a muffled comment to the guard, unable for John to hear.

...

Sherlock wasn't prepared for this visit. He was fixing his hair, or lack there off near the stiches, when the door handle clicked. Molly had just left. And Sherlock just assumed she came back for the scarf she had forgotten on the chair. "Over there," he just pointed out, not really looking at the figure standing there. But the gasp this figure made was alarmingly familiar. Nearly dropping everything with his clumsy hands Sherlock shot up with wie eyes. Not sure this was real or not.

John was standing at the foot of his bed. Healthy and sober. Aware.

"J-John..."

John Watson smiled. Surprised by the delight of being here. He had never seen him this happy.

"Hi Sherlock."

Then his friends mind started working again and he blinked at him suspiciously.

"How did you escape?" John bit his lip to hide his smile, understanding this wasn't even funny. But still. Sherlock looking at him like he was a magic genius for once, sure was refreshing.

Then he coughed, pointing at the door behind him.

"Nurse let me," John stated, giving away the magic. Sherlock nodded at first. But his emotions swelled up behind his eyes until he couldn't hold it in longer.

"We've made it, John. We are safe." Sherlock held in a sob. But his eyes were already leaking.

 _The poor soul..._

John had to heave a sigh of compassion _. This was the first time they could talk to eachother, without Sherlock being unable to form full_ _sentences_ _._

"Come here." Sherlock beckoned.

Ther was yet another moment were John Watson flashed back at this bloody memory, the defeaded look in his friends eyes, and the army doctor had to blink his eyes to see his friend clearly, now. He smiled at him. Wanting him to come over so that they could... hug?

John giggled surprised as he hooked in to his shaky arms.

"Really, Sherlock? A hug?" Sherlock smirked back.

"Blame it on the morphine." It was good to feel the connection again.

"Look at you, Sherlock. Sitting and talking. I can actually understand what you are saying now." John had to grab th chair after the hug. Feeling a bit overwhelmed.

"Yeah... well. Still unable to connect to the mind palace. Can only open a few doors." There... Sherlock frose.

John blinked. What was going on now? Another black out?

"Ehr.. Sherlock?"

Then he was back again. Just a bit unsure of what he had seen.

"Remember something?" Sherlock blinked again with a slight concern.

"Should i call..." John asked but got stopped there.

"No... nothing... It's just... That song.. i remember a song..." Sherlock shook his head. As if trying to clear his thoughts again.

John wanted to be reasured he was fine but got stopped again. This time with another Sherlock-smile.

"John... i want a dog," He esclaimed. This took John aback with wonder.

"A... dog?"

"Yes... when we're better. I want a dog."

Sherlock seemed so happy with his self inflicted promise. But John was a bit unsure.

"Fine. I just... never thought of you like a dogperson." Ahwell.. Why not. If the man needed to have something in his live after he almost lost it.. it was only fair to give him that one thing he wanted. It was probably the new wiring caust by the severe concussion. But if this was all... Next to the hug... John's heart dropped.

 _He almost lost his life... and he was talking about his friends abnormal behavior?_

A hand automatically gripped the cocussed detectives arm. A soft smile grew on his face while looking into the poor man's eyes.

"Of course, Sherlock. We will find a dog." He saw the man getting emotional again. Totaly understandible. And then his normal self chained in. He looked at his friends arm. and nodded with a frown.

"After you put your weight back on. How are you still even alive." He shook his head. Sherlock was well aware of his former state and nodded.

"Sure. applejuice sunds great."

John shrugged.

"Then... Applejuice it is."

...

 **AN: Hope you guys liked this chapter. I know i suck and everything. considering no one ever reviews anymore. Ahwell... boop boop**

 **X**

 **Josie**


	22. Black-outs

One thing that Sherlock has been always very good at, is forgetting time. On a normal day he would spend hours thinking and talking to John without ever noticing he wasn't there. Time did not exist in his mind palace. Occasional words escaped his lips and some times John was there to react on it or at least he would be writing them down if he had the change. And if they were on a case. Sometimes the words were lost because Sherlock was talking to no one. Not that it mattered though. Those words ment nothing to him, most of the time; because the real conversation had been held inside his head. His body just acted out on it's own. Like sleeptalking.

But no matter Sherlock had the normalcy to forget time. This time, however, wasn't on purpose.

And it really confused him.

Had he gone back to sleep? Did he just forget his entire day? What did he remember?

 _Time for a little deduction._

His white sheet was stained on the edge of the foot, indicating that something ha been eaten there. It looked like Jam. Sherlock smirked.

"Of course. John had been eating his lunch here." He looked for the crums to comfirm. and found them a little higher on the sheet. A nauseating sensation swept over him and that could mean he hadn't been able to eat something substantial yet. But he did remember the applejuice.

But what did he remember as the last thing he did?

His head was already hurting.

Then it came.

...{flashback}...

'Sherlock... i have to ask... what are you jabbering about?' he remembered John Watson asking to him. He was there, at the foot of his bed. Looking at him. His hand still clutching his plastic fork. Sherlock studied the man. He looked okay. Tired but not dead. He remembered himself once again that his flashback of John bleeding in that horrible place wasn't real. John was fine. Sherlock didn't fail on him.

But there was the grimace John pulled at him. It was grey and out of concern. Sherlock remembered looking down at his glass of sweet yellow water. There was a glass of applejuice in his hand, he was staring at it. Then it had hit him. That weird feeling of being on to something but not completely sure yet. Something about his past bubbled up he just didn't want to remember. The few words that had slipped out of his mouth were vague in his mind: 'the numbers i didn't know. The rest I didn't want to know...'

'What's that?' John had asked again. Sherlock looked up at his friend. Almost on the edge of tearing up afront of the doctor.

'Redbeard.' He whimpered.

"Sherlock? please tell me this is still the morfine talking, you know you are babbling, right?'

Sherlock shook his head. nearly letting his glass slip out of his hand.

'I am affraid that if I enter these memories, i would loose something very valuable to me.'

"Yeah.. Well. We need to reduse the intake on the morfine, I think..."

...{end flashback}...

Sherlock gulped as he tried to erease the rest of the memory. Desparetly looking for an empty glass on his nightstand or a stain from his spill on the blanket. But there was none. So he assumed he drank it all and he had a visit from one of the staff already. Or maybe John had taken everything outside the tray carrier of some sort. Hopefully he did't make a scene before he fell asleep. Sherlock already noticed his nightclotes was damp and sticky. _So he had made a scene then. He had been scared. Winded up. Was this why John had left?_ Sherlock fell to his own built wall in his brain. He had blocked his memory already, about his talk about... Redbeard. So chosing to break up that wall again would be unwise. Also: very exhausting considering his current state.

Then a soft knock on the door startled him back into the present.

"Yes?" he answered, not remembering if he should answere a knock in the super secret hospital or not.

The door opened. To his surprise John was back with his wife, who looked like she was about to burst the baby out, by now.

"Ah, thank God, you're still awake. Told you i would be back in a bit." Sherlock couldn't react fast enough for the doctor,- and his wife's likings and that was when the frowns were shot at him.

"Half an hour ago, the new nurse came in with the cellphone. Remember?" John smiled but Sherlock knew how sad he must look in his friends eyes.

"Nope," Sherlock shrugged it off. Mary chuckled as she took the chair next to the right of Sherlock. His infuse was on the left and her belly didn't fit otherwise. John stayed at the foot of the bed leaning relaxed on the bar where the nurses always clipped his file onto it. They all stared to him. Sherlock still a bit lost.

"Well, i told John i would be in soon, was already on my way. Also wanted to see how my other friend was doing. You look better than the last time i saw you." Mary patted his schoulder and it felt nice.

"Swelling around the stitches is almost down completely. Bruises are turning yellow. All good. How is your stomach?" Those deductions Marry made were dull but reassuring.

"Sherlock? your stomach still throwing a tantrum in there?" John asked this time. Sherlock blinked at him.

"Is it?" As Sherlock looked down he saw his hand clutching his stomach. why didn't he notice the pain until he looked down.

"You should probably lie a bit further down. After our chat you said something about loosing something valuable and I kind off watched you black out." John chuckled to make it sound like it wasn't a big deal to him. _Who was he trying to deceive?_ Carefully, Sherlock tried to unfold his cramped grip on his stomach and heaved a tentive sigh. It was okay, now. Before he knew it Marry already lowered his headrest and it did feel better. It took a while for Sherlock to get his eyes focused again. He was feeling relieved about laying flat. But it made him harder to see his friends.

"Remember that you are still a patient that had been through a lot, Sherlock. It takes time to feel better. Your memory loss is to be espected. Although... your speaking skills are returning. You are barely slurring. anything together anymore."

"Yes, i also notice you eyesfollowing our movements, Sherlock. Last time you couldn't do that. So I say in total honesty that you are doing quite well."

"Headaches?" John asked.

John was really diagnosing him and it made Sherlock very uncomfortable. Now he felt so vulnerable and fragile afront of them. Especially Mary. And the pitty for him was obnoxious. Yet he was still very pleased to be surrounded with them. So he did not say a thing about it, in fear of being left alone.

"What about you, doctor Watson? Are you still patient-worthy?" John grinned and nodded.

"Can't leave until tomorrow. But am finally alowed to get visitors."

"Under supervision," Mary pointed out. "There is a hired muscle standing outside." Mary glare at the pale detective and Sherlock pulled an eyebrow.

"Yeah, she was in here. You have seen her, the one who brought me the cellphone?" John tried again. But Sherlock shrugged again.

"Nevermind. You'll see her around enough, I am affraid. Because you are about the only one I can visit." Sherlock nodded, slowly losing his interest in this visit. His mind palace was calling him. Something was about to happen. he felt it... the silky cold darkness. Slowly but surely constricting him like a snake.

...{flashback}...

Mycroft was sitting in John Watson's chair accross from him. Sherlock had seen that look before. He was trying to figure something out about him. Amused Sherlock cocked his head.

"Seeing something interesting, Brother?" He plucked at his violin with sharp movements. Not meant too play but to annoy his big brother until he wanted to leave. This usually worked.

"Just looking out for you, brothermine. I was especting you to be more grimm and less sober on cocaïne, now that John Watson has left the apartment." at the word cocaïne Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Oh please, Mycroft. Why do i need Cocaïne if i am on a case?"

"Hm.. is it a good one?" Mycroft asked uninterested appearantly.

"Stop it. You know what case i am doing. Isn't that what you do?

Mycroft blinked his eyes with a smirk.

"Do what?"

"Just _looking out for me_."

"Ah Yes. Indeed I tend to take interest in the where abouts of my little brother. That's what big brothers do."

Sherlock huffed.

"Very well then. Next time, bring a board game. Almost falling asleep at the sound of your boring whining."

Mycroft pulled a eyebrow.

"Did you eat annything?" Again Sherlock huffed.

"Stating the obvious."

"Your blouse is hanging loosly around your schoulders. So you do feel lonely." Mycroft pointed out. Sherlock shrugged.

"I am seeing John tomorrow. Saw his yesterday. You on the otherhand seemed to have many friends unlike the last time i saw you. You gained... what.. like 6 pounds?"

"5 and a half." Annoyed as he ever was, Mycroft shot up his hands in defeat.

Sherlock watched his brother leave until he said:

"Besides, I have Mrs, Hudson who keeps me company." That was out before he had realised he confessed. He was lonely without his Army Doctor. Mycroft stopped his stride. Clicked the point of his umbrella once against the stairwood.

"Good night, brothermine. Ask Mrs. Hudson to cook something up for you, next time. Before Scotland yard have to scrape you off the damn carpet."

"Oh Sod off, fatty."

The chuckle of both brothers ended ony after the door closed.

...{end flashback}...

When Sherlock realised his mind had wandered off, he shot back to his favorite visitors. Finding that Mary had already left the chair and John had taken her place with a book to stay busy. A pang of disappointment was felt in his heart.

"Oh?" he said; getting John's attention. He dropped the book next to him on the ground as he came closer to sherlock's face. Sherlock studied the man's features carefully. The army Doctor looked a bit more tired now and also very worried about him.

"You blacked out again. And i am still not sure if this is just _you_ being _you_ or the effects of the concussion got worse." Sherlock wanted to get upright, only finding John's hand blocking the buttons on the remote.

"No. Stay down. I have called a nurse when i noticed your eyes were rolling all over the place again. Sherlock... This was the second black out I have seen with you in the last 2 hours." Sherlock understood the concern but shook his head to ease the Doctor down.

"Was thinking, John." Startled at his hoarse voice Sherlock coughed to get his normal voice back.

"Yeah? Thinking?" John wasn't falling for it.

Dispite his confussion, Sherlock shook his head in protest when John tapped the hand away from the remote, again.

"No, sherlock. I am affraid I have to insist. Stay put and rest. Maybe you are just overstimulated by our visit. Or perhaps the lower dosage of morfine makes you feel uncomfortable." _What?_

"What?" John nodded. Almost amused by this reaction about the morfinedosage being down.

"How is the pain? Feel any stomach cramps like earlier?" Sherlock looked around his room, hopeful to find more clues about what had happened just yet. But only finding two grey eyes peering down at him. Sherlock was too scared to hide his fears and confessed.

"John... I actually do not remember Mary leaving? This upsets me more than my stomach aches." John bit his lip while frowning at the honesty.

"Really? But you have said your goodbye to her with the bests of luck and everything." _Is he serious? Is this some kind of twisted joke?_

"I did?"

John shook his head. Cursing under his breath.

"I knew you was just acting on autopilot. As soon as you fell quiet for a bit." It scared Sherlock that he had lost a lot of moments this entire day. _Why was he getting worse instead of better? With his memories slipping away whitout noticing, he felt horrified. He wasn't in controle today._

Sherlock didn't know his eyes were driping until he felt a tissue dab them away. Followed with a heavy sigh from the Doctor.

It had surprised him do much that he let out a soft cry while looking at the ceiling.

"You might be right about being overstimulated. I can't get a grasp of today, John. I think I need to speak to Mycroft."

"Mycroft isn't here, Sherlock. He is following a lead, as far as I know. Mary talked to Molly this morning." Still confused at his weak state Sherlock tried to remember something. Mycroft was following a lead... Legwork and everything. This must have been very important to the case he was working at with that tooth. This thought had stopped his eyes from leaking further.

"He is probably after that woman with the voice." John nodded, but not really because of the _Mycroft being on the case_ part. He was following his friends condition carefully.

His dominant hand felt his chest and without looking he felt that he had another night shirt on. So he did forget that part too. He was thempted to look down at the Jam stain on the blanked but he would just have to assume his bed sheet was cleaned too.

"John... is there another explanation about why i forget fragments more than yesterday?" Sherlock sounded lost, even to his own ears.

John cursed again.

"Well, considering i have never seen you like this, you actually look better. Swelling and bruising are coming down. You are more coherent, speech normal. Motorskills working fine. I would say you are doing better. This must be stress related or.. the building pressure is back and you need to be looked at before the headaches start again. Do you have them at the moment?"

Sherlock had to think about it. But after a while he shook his head.

"Good. That's... that's good."

But Sherlock wasn't having it. Not today.

"Give me m crosswords, John. Helps me focus." John nodded.

"Alright. As long as you stay in this possision."

When Sheriock took the crossword book from John he noticed the written numbers on the side of his puzzle. Molly hooper had helped him solve it this morning. But those numbers. Why had he written them down?

"John.. Does this mean anything to you?" he had to ask as John put down his book again.

"Just numbers, Sherlock. Does it mean something to you?" Sherlock looked at it but gave up after a while.

"No.. Just stupid random numbers i must have wrote when i was high." He shrugged it off and got back to work.

Only to gasp a moment later after realising something about the numbers he just wrote now without even noticing.

"Aren't these coordinations for something? O-Or a code?"

...

 **AN:**

 **Thank you for taking the time for my story. I really am happy to hear these are not a waste of time :) Please do tell if this chapter was fun to read.**

 **X**

 **Josie**


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